


H E L E N A

by kassandra_divina_trevelyan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Angst, Blood and Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied Sexual Content, References to Depression, Romantic Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Trojan War, Verbal Abuse, helen of troy au, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassandra_divina_trevelyan/pseuds/kassandra_divina_trevelyan
Summary: Summary: She goes by many monikers—the Princess of Eprana, the unwilling bride of Prince Rumlow of Hydra, the lover of General Steve Rogers of Brooklyn, and the cause behind a vicious war between the Seven Kingdoms. Her beauty might be one to launch a thousand ships but the ichor racing through her veins could burn a thousand mortal cities to the ground. And Helena, daughter of the Pantheon and vessel for the spirit of Solstice, is no woman any mortal man can take without her willingness.  Inspired by the tale of Helen of Troy and the Trojan War.TW: suicide pact, thoughts of suicide, mentions of depression, verbal/emotional abuse, graphic depictions of violence, graphic sexual content (implied and explicit)
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11





	1. The Invasion of Eprana

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anika_Ann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/gifts).



_Eprana, Year 8 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The illusion of peace vanished as the first boot stepped onto the white sands of the island kingdom Eprana.

The boats carelessly docked along the calm waves lapping at the shore of Eprana’s northern beach were hard to miss, given the identifying colors snapping in the wind. A black flag marked only by a red skull with six tentacles—the symbol of Hydra. From on the boats, an intimidating number of armored soldiers filtered onto the sand and formed several ranks and files. Leading the group, was an intimidating man with unsettling dark eyes and a near-permanent scowl stuck on his face. Prince Brock Rumlow of Hydra settled his hands against his hips and smugly eyed the direction of where the palace should be. He planned on kicking down the palace gates if need be to get what he came here for. He had no plans of leaving Eprana without his prize, or else he pondered how the sand beneath his feet might look tainted with red.

“Forward, march!” Rumlow barked, his command for his troops to storm the beach and demonstrate their presence on supposedly neutral soil. For too long, Eprana remained uninvolved in conflicts and their lack of military force made it all too easy for an invasion. The white sand beaches of Eprana had never seen such chaos in all the eons of existence, but the winds of change were sweeping across the seven kingdoms. Nearly twenty years ago, a faction of disgruntled residents of Manhattan—the largest and most powerful empire—revolted against the rule of the late King Howard Stark. Stark crushed the rebellion underfoot and exiled the leaders of the treasonous rebellion, casting them out to sea for the powers that be to handle punishment as they saw fit.

Fortune happened to have a different plan.

The exiles reached landfall at an unknown settlement, believed to be inhabitable, and that acted as a sign for them to embark on a quest for not only vengeance but the supremacy of their ideology. Thus, the kingdom of Hydra was born as the direct antithesis to Manhattan from the constitution down to the designs of the new palace known as the Triskelion.

The rest of the kingdoms moved on from the disastrous rebellion, hoping with the insurgents handled and their revolution ambitions quashed that the nations might return to an era of peace. Howard Stark passed the mantle down to his son, Anthony “Tony” Stark, and the lines of succession continued in a ripple effect across the kingdoms. Manhattan remained the shining beacon of progressive civilization among the kingdoms with equal counterparts emerging in Wakanda (ruled by King T’Challa, formerly the Boy King) and Asgard (under the rulership of Lord Thor Odinson).

But the universe required the striking of a balance between the light and the dark. Sokovia, once a promising kingdom, fell into disarray under a feeble monarchy system. That led to the rise of Ultron, an automaton that issued a militant-backed coup, to instate himself as the dictator of Sokovia. Under Ultron, poverty and hunger run rampant while inside the palace walls held plenty for the people to be fed three times over.

Then, there was Vormir: a kingdom shrouded in mysticism, darkness, and uncertainty. None truly knew what wonders or horrors inhabited the island of Vormir for those often those who traveled there never returned. From what little rumor did provide to the outside world, Vormir’s indigenous peoples were a race of magic-users who bent the shadows to their wills, among other dark arts.

Finally, there was Eprana. Eprana was the closest thing to paradise one might ever know on Earth. Filled with natural resources such as rare metals, precious gems, and magical herbs to facilitate trade, Eprana’s ports were busy and (theoretically) open to all who sought her harbors. Eprana was a land of peace and prosperity, strictly refusing to participate in warfare when avoidable. Per the edict of their gods, known as the Pantheon, Eprana was to remain the neutral kingdom and uphold peace. They opened their homes to refugees fleeing violence and were the ones setting up the negotiations for peace talks should two nations start careening toward conflict.

The synchronous thundering of boots against the sand and the gruff war cries floated from the water’s edge and into the small village residing outside the palace. Waiting along the end of the beach was King Alexander Nepheros, his daughter Princess Helena, and an array of the best-trained guards waiting to greet their guests, an unbefitting word for the audacious intruders who came without invitation or warning. They were the barricade between the invading forces and their people.

“Helena, I wished you stayed at the palace,” King Alexander remarked lowly so that his daughter would be the only recipient of his words. Although they were flanked by friendly guards, the king would be foolish to believe he might speak so openly. Alliances could be fickle, change with the tide or the moon.

“Father, I am to rule Eprana one day. It is an honor to represent my kingdom and my people,” Helena gently reminded him, both knowing that nothing good could come from Hydra’s presence on Eprana. She maintained her courage in the face of such circumstances, swallowing down the fear she felt until where she hoped she could hold it.

“I know. I wish it were not so,” King Alexander whispered to his daughter’s pointed silence, knowing his words did not fall on deaf ears from the way Helena uncomfortably shifted in the saddle of her chosen mount, a Pegasus black as the midnight hour’s kiss. Alexander knew his daughter, otherworldly in her beauty and wise far beyond her earthly years, and he knew she was a woman of her people. Should her people call her to arms, Helena would brave any battlefield, risk the indiscriminating hand of death looming over her, and stain her pure hands in red for her kingdom. Duty came above all else. The troops of Hydra appeared over the crests of the sand dunes in their gleaming armor of obsidian and iron bathed in crimson corrosion. The royal guard remained firm in their posts alongside their leaders in King Alexander and Princess Helena.

“King Alexander, the Broker of Prosperity, I am honored to set foot on your kingdom. Truly, it is a paradise beyond fathomable comprehension,” Rumslow knelt before King Alexander and Helena, although the gesture and complimentary appraisal of the island felt more like lip service than genuine coming from a man of Rumlow’s notoriety. No act of fealty or traditional respect would ever make Helena believe the man before her and her father bore good intentions. He was a monster, born at the foot of and reared on the fruit of the poisonous tree. Rumlow focused his attention on Princess Helena, seated at her father’s left side and radiating the authority of a coronated queen instead of a mere princess. Helena felt her stomach lurch in unrestrained disgust underneath the predatory gaze of Rumlow and many of his men. Should she not be a princess, nothing would protect her from them or their desires. Rumlow allowed his eyes to rove over Helena from the [gilded crown](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/d9/c5/5c/d9c55c1c36fdc7092171e611d08522b2.jpg) atop her brunette tresses and down the [traditional, jewel-toned dress.](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/90/f0/75/90f0754d8470e78f950fa8b69898a28b.jpg) “And you must be the fabled Princess Helena. I have heard much about you, and the tales of your beauty do not measure to what only the eyes may understand.”

“Is that all you have heard about me, Prince Rumlow? Tales about my beauty?” Helena inquired sullenly, her voice full of silvery mysticism like the moon. Her fiery eyes drifted over the faces in the crowd, and those who met hers averted their gaze elsewhere, stricken speechless. She knew men of Rumlow’s nature for what they were: greedy or cowardly dogs.

“What brings you to Eprana, Prince Rumslow?” King Alexander interrupted his daughter before Rumlow should answer her inquiry and risk finding himself invoking the wrath of the Pantheon and its most celebrated warrior. Helena disdainfully squared her shoulders, knowing that she detested hostility down to her bones but that trusting Rumlow or any agent of Hydra would result in the cataclysmic destruction of all she held near and dear. That provoked the dormant dragon’s fire that lived in her soul, the gold-spun ichor dancing through her heart and breathing life into her as the All-Father did.

“A proposition for an alliance,” Rumlow shared, gesturing his arms open and full to encompass his surroundings. His mouth promised harmony, but his eyes darkly gleamed with insidious motivations. “The tides of the war are swiftly changing; it can be felt in the air. Manhattan’s unjust hegemony shall be no more, and I wish to offer Eprana sanctioned protection when victory becomes Hydra’s. History shall honor those who chose the winning side and I believe Eprana deserves a chance to align with those who shall emerge victoriously.” Rumlow’s self-congratulatory, hasty declaration of a victory not ensured soured Helena’s patience, which often earned the comparison to that of saintly benevolence. She felt her lip curl in disgust, knowing the fact Rumlow did not know half of those words for how poorly he mispronounced them, masquerading as a more intelligent man to the unsuspecting soldiers of his army.

“And do tell, how do you expect the terms of such an agreement to be upheld?” King Alexander inquired evenly, and he betrayed nothing of the distrust flaring up. King Alexander was no fool, no senile old man who could be fooled by wool over his eyes. He shared his daughter’s suspicions of Rumlow from the first word and knew there would be more to the agreement than simple protection over Eprana. No, Rumlow wanted something far greater and he suspected it might revolve around his daughter for how Rumlow fixated on her beauty. Undeterred by the questioning, Rumlow glanced out at his men, smirk twitching at his lips. 

“A bonding union of marriage between myself and Princess Helena,” Rumlow suggested, and a near-unanimous cheer rose from the ranks of his army perched behind him. Such a deal would add glory to Hydra’s name: owning Helena of Eprana, the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. However, Helena knew this ploy for what it was. A marriage between her and Prince Rumlow would designate the island under Hydra’s rule and jurisdiction, therefore breaking the oath of Eprana’s neutrality. Eprana and her people would belong as subjects to the Hydra crown and Helena would rather die than see such a tragedy come to fruition with her own eyes, much less by her own hand or compliant agreeance.

“Is this your attempt at a proposal, a courtship of my only and beloved daughter? A flashy show of brute force that doubles as an active threat to my people?” King Alexander gruffly interrogated, daring to question Rumlow. Helena witnessed as the amusement on his face flickered to reveal the sinister sneer when it appeared that Eprana’s leadership would be more challenging to intimidate than anticipated. However, Rumlow refused to walk away without Helena—he would not return to Hydra defeated or a failure to some backwater, feeble island. They had no army while he commanded hundreds upon hundreds of men; this was not a war he could afford to lose.

“King Alexander, you are a man of reason. You must see that such an arrangement would benefit all parties involved. Do not tell me you are content to remain a pawn in the wiles and whims of greater nations? Manhattan has no use for you! Eprana could be so much more than an absentee, weak kingdom!” Rumlow bellowed, snapping through his collected façade. There was the anger Helena predicted slipping through the cracks of control like grains of sand through careless hands. His reputation as a hot-headed, brash, and foul-mouthed brute proceeded him. Helena and King Alexander experienced undisguised fury when Rumlow ventured to label their kingdom as weak. Helena’s vibrantly blue eyes flashed dangerously and that caused the soldiers standing behind Rumlow shift fearfully in their rank and file formation.

“You failed to answer my question,” King Alexander strictly pointed out to Rumlow, who appeared far from apologetic or shamed. The stand-off between the two royals ensued during a lapse within the strained conversation, leaving both sides watching the silent war deteriorate in suspenseful silence, bated breath. King Alexander, known for his benevolence by other leaders and his people, suddenly felt less than kingly at the presence of Brock—the spoiled Hydra upstart—tossing around demands with such impunity. He might be long past his prime years, but King Alexander would die before Brock laid a finger on Helena. “You have some audaciousness coming into my kingdom of untrained civilians with soldiers armed to the teeth and essentially threatening lives for my daughter’s hand in marriage-” The refusal appeared imminent, but Helena, struck by a chilling revelation, stopped him from continuing his tirade. She knew men like Rumlow would not accept no for an answer. He would kill her father for refusal, pillage and burn Eprana to the ground, and commit other unspeakable atrocities. Gods only knew how little mercy or empathy he and his soldiers carried in their shriveled, blackened hearts. Eprana would be theirs should they want it enough. Why would she be any different to a man that only saw her as a possession, something to own and use as he saw fit? Helena swiftly dismounted her steed when it kneeled down into the sand.

“You may have me, but me alone. Not this island, not my people unless you wish to incur the wrath of the Pantheon for your audacity.” Helena negotiated emotionlessly, to the sound of rumbling thunder off in the distance. To hear such a foreboding omen under the clear, cloudless skies and simmering sun struck fear into the hearts of the soldiers. 

“Helena, what are you doing?” King Alexander questioned. He dismounted his war stallion to stop Helena from stepping out of the protective line meant for the two of them. He grabbed his daughter’s slender wrist and held her back protectively. Helena was his pride and joy, his only daughter. Alexander refused to let her go and fling herself onto some tyrant’s lap to beg for leniency.

“What I was born to do: serve Eprana. Our people, innocent men and women and children, expect us to protect them, however need be. Rumlow will slaughter them without remorse. He and his men will burn the palace to the ground and dance in the blood and broken bodies left in their wake. They- you know what they will do to me should you refuse.” Helena remarked, her eyes softening because of her people’s plight. Rumlow brought a war to Eprana’s shores that no one asked for. She would fail her duty as Eprana’s princess by standing back and maintaining a selfish, prideful stance. Helena’s face dismayed at the agony in her father’s eyes. She knew her choice was killing him on the inside, but he (of all people) should understand the nature of royalty is one of sacrifice. Helena swallowed thickly while refusing to entertain the idea of tears, “If I bargain myself, I can maintain some agency and leverage.”

“Helena, I cannot allow you to sacrifice you to that monster!” Alexander would hear none of it; he could not, would not let Rumlow steal what little he held dear to him. Such an agreement would strip him of the land he swore to protect and his daughter. He still saw the little girl she once was with inquisitive, wide eyes and little hands that he would pluck the stars from the sky for. She had blossomed into a woman of beauty and grace and sagely wisdom—and he understood that she was right about Rumlow. He did not want to lose her because once she stepped foot on those boats floating on the water’s edge, he knew he would never see his darling Helena again.

“Father, have you not told me to let fate be my guide?” Helena questioned him, although she already knew the answer. She needed her father to understand, to validate why she was insistent on appeasing Rumlow.

“I have,” Alexander conceded to that, recalling such words escaping from him many a time to his daughter during moments of her greatest conflicts.

“Then I have to believe the Pantheon will deliver me from danger,” Helena reasoned while giving her father a deeply apologetic frown and pleading eyes. She prayed that one day, he might forgive her and understand she did what she needed to do for Eprana. She slipped her wrist from her father’s slackened grip, seeing him too dismayed and defeated to argue with his beloved daughter. Tears shone in both their eyes as Alexander leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering to memorize the scent of her favored honey fragrance or oil that reminded him of vanilla. With great reluctance, King Alexander let his daughter go and observed Helena step boldly from the protection of the guards and onto the sand.

Helena stepping onto the sand emotionlessly stirred unrest through the soldiers and Rumlow clenched fist gesture quelled their fear of Helena with their fear of Rumlow. Helena stood boldly across from Rumlow, studying him intently and noted how he studied her in return. The contrast was stark and undeniable: he considered what he might see on the superficial surface while she pondered his motivations to predict his next move. Although Eprana had no military force, Helena learned much about the art of war through her studies. “Only one condition must be met beforehand, Prince Rumlow. If you complete the task, I will willingly go with you, no protests or struggle and no one will pursue revenge,”

“Name your condition,” Rumlow eagerly agreed and opened his arms wide, unashamedly satisfied with getting his way. Too drunk on his own victory, Rumlow failed to recognize the glimmer in Helena’s eyes. A simpleton with not enough respect for women to consider her a foe, eh? Twisting his ambitions to ensnare him in a trap of his own making was a ploy too elaborate for Rumlow to imagine.

“An oath, one that promises you will uphold the deal proposed to my father, the King. I will swear one of my own to pledge my willingness to surrender,” Helena explained, and she held up her hand, halting Rumlow before he decided to interrupt her while thinking he knew better. “To the Gods do you swear, on your life and the lives of your men, that no harm will come to Eprana or any of her people should I willingly surrender myself over to Hydra? Do you uphold these terms for as long as you shall live and in death, will they be upheld?” Betraying such an oath would undoubtedly enrage the Pantheon. The Pantheon demolished empires with a decisive snap of their fingers for far less, and insolent duplicity from an arrogant mortal ensured an inevitable fall from grace; unbridled hubris made for a painful punishment.

“I, Brock Rumlow, swear on the Pantheon that I or anyone else of Hydra shall leave Eprana and its residents in peace with this exchange of Princess Helena’s life for that of her people and island,” Rumlow swore brashly, half stumbling through the words from boredom. Helena narrowed her eyes but replaced them swiftly with a placid smile, a telling move. When a woman such as herself smiled, the eyes went unnoticed. Rumlow would miss how hers screamed for his ships to drown at sea or him to choke on his self-conceited spit. Never had Helena felt so warm and embracing to spite, which festered inside of her tempestuously.

“I, Helena Emmeline Nepheros, swear on the Pantheon that I shall surrender myself to Prince Brock Rumlow of Hydra without a struggle.” Helena followed with her oath, tailored to gain Rumlow’s trust or fool him enough into complacency—whichever was easier. Rumlow watched her as the thunder rumbled overhead ominously, signifying that they were acknowledged and bound to their oaths. Helena had no expectations that Rumlow would uphold his end of the deal, which she prepared for. Then, she hoped that he was content with what she promised, not what he assumed she promised because there was a difference, and he made peace with his gods. For Helena was not done fighting back against Rumlow and she would never stop, so long as there was breath in her lungs.

“Come now, Princess. You are mine,” Rumlow demanded, crooking his fingers toward himself in a ‘come hither’ gesture and accompanied by a leering grin. Helena resisted giving in to her anger and pressed her flat palm over the amulet around her neck as she walked over to him. She refused his hands on her by angling herself away from her touch and staring into the eyes of her heartbroken father. Beyond him and the royal guard was the castle she would never see again, the people she dreamed of ruling one day, and the memories of her past forever lost.

“Do not touch me,” Helena growled disgustedly when Rumlow dared to reach for her a second time, wondering if her silence made it unclear what she wanted. She would go with him, but that was her limit. He could demand her as his bride until the wolves came home and he turned ashy blue in the face. It would never happen. Rumlow chuckled at his new conquest’s fiery little response, unmoved by her intimidation and thoroughly entertained by his imaginative mind counting all the ways he could choose from to break her spirit into shatters.

“Not so strong now, Princess Helena? You will come to enjoy my touch soon enough.” Rumlow boastfully taunted and his insinuation caused Helena’s stomach to violently churn, but she kept a graceful façade of composure. She would never allow him to see her squirm or an inkling of fear in her. As soon as she demonstrated one shred of vulnerability or doubt in front of Rumlow, that would be the day she died. From now on, she had only herself to rely on and pray that her faith in the Pantheon was not misguided—that they might deliver her through this trial. Helena was not made to be the wife of a powerful man; she was made to be her own ruler and an equal to a man she chose, not who “acquired” her like a prized horse or some jewels. 

“Not until after we are wed, unless you wish the Gods to smite you where you stand for defiling a princess.” Helena countered sharply and snobbishly, hoping the coldness of her words erected some sort of protection between him and his ambitions and her. The words felt unnatural coming from her mouth, awkward and disjointed by virtue of their hostility, but she had no choice. There could be no chance for error, no mistaken sweetness for a monster pretending to be a man by the mere presence of mortal flesh. Rumlow edged away from her, and Helena’s spirits lifted upon noticing his reaction; all she needed was a flicker of hope and her spirited heart ran with it. With faith, she could never fail.

“I will allow it for now.” Rumlow crinkled his nose at her answer and wished to circumvent such religiosity, for he bowed to no gods or false idols. He was a god; he would be king. Rumlow whistled to summon all attention on him as he declared, “Men, march!” The soldiers reversed their course from before and returned to the boat in an orderly fashion as Rumslow had Helena escorted behind him by two personal guards. Helena glanced over her shoulder as she was dragged away, taking in the view of her home for one final time.

She could only hope that she might see it again before she died.


	2. A Vision of Hope

_Triskelion, Year 8 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

From the solitary window of her bedroom within the Triskelion, Helena glanced down across the city, shrouded in the bleak cover of the murky morning fog. The marine layer would clear by midday, leaving the view into the square clear. From then, she could watch the children chased by the palace guards for causing a scene, the eerie silence of the marketplace filled with people too poor to afford the wares of vendors, or a public whipping for a minor crime if she were “fortunate”—according to Rumlow.

Helena hated it here.

A month or so at sea and another month locked away in the tallest tower like a fairytale princess from the stories she would read as a child, Helena ached for Eprana with the unyielding strain of homesickness. Her fingers grazed against the ivory canopy draped over the hand-carved, four-poster bed as she slumped onto the bed; the room radiated with an opulence befitting royalty, but no amount of gold or jewels could ever set her wounded heart at ease. Seeing her living in a gilded prison, surrounded by beautiful things, while Hydra’s citizens barely got by, made her woefully apologetic for something she had no control over. She was as much a prisoner as they, only the illusion of freedom bound her from the reassurance of sympathy—those down below cast envy upon her like a heavy stone. The daggers of their judgmental eyes pierced her skin open, wounded her, and drew out the life from her bleeding heart. There was nothing more painful for Helena than to be hated by those she represented. Should they understand how Helena came to be here, perhaps they might sympathize with the lost princess.

_The sea churned in choppy waves lapping against the wooden hull of The Winterfell Drakon, the largest warship belonging to Hydra, as the partial fleet sailed back home. Onboard the Winterfell, Helena remained on the deck beside Rumlow while he boasted about his prowess and military victories to his enamored crew. They absorbed every word, every lie from his lips like it was gospel and cheered for the greatness of their champion, their hero, their future king-_

_-And Helena to be his queen._

_Rumlow raised his arms out to the horizon and on it, he saw endless opportunities. After all, he won the Princess of Eprana as his prize with impunity, and no one willing to threaten recourse for his actions. To Rumlow, he was untouchable. God-like, as he would believe. He sauntered back over to Helena and grinned wolfishly at her, rather amused by her sullen expression. When she failed to join the revelry over his greatness, Rumlow’s amusement vanished and annoyance took its place._

_“Little Princess, are you not appreciative of belonging to such an honored war hero?” Rumlow inquired, tested by her vow of silence. It seemed that Rumlow took offense to all her vows of abstaining. However, his slight against her—implying he owned her—brought red into her eyes and tainted her heart in blackness. She belonged to no mortal and even the Gods held questionable control of her for what she was, who she was._

_“I belong to no one, least of all you. I do not see any of your proposed union as legitimate,” Helena replied callously, fighting against her instinct to evoke respect and circumvent the threat through peace. Peace would never be an option for a man of war. Therefore, Helena adopted belligerence as her sword and aloofness as her shield with faith as her armor—a triad of unstoppable will protecting her from Rumlow or anyone else who sought to use her for their gain._

_“Oh, am I eager to break you in and crush that rebellious streak of yours. You make it so tempting to shirk waiting,” Rumlow crudely remarked, his face adopting the cruel smirk that tended to accompany his idea of a jest. Nothing about his intentions were mere jests. Helena’s stomach curdled._

_“Have you already forgotten? There shall be no such arrangement until we are married. Epranians consider premarital sex a sin and a slight against the Pantheon, one rewarded by the highest degree of punishment. So, if you wish to spare yourself from an irrevocable curse or fate arguably worse than death, you shall refrain from making such audacious remarks or threats to my virtue.” Helena coldly reminded him, and her lips curled in disgust, overwhelmingly regarding Rumlow’s idiocy or piggish behavior._

_Unbeknownst to Rumlow, that declaration was nothing more than a smoke and mirror lie. Although her culture encouraged the practice of abstinence until marriage or a committed partnership, no stigma or punishment was surrounding sexual intercourse between two consenting parties. The Pantheon hardly cared about such matters. However, what Rumlow did not know would keep Helena safe. She prepared several fail-safes, such as demanding the marriage be set in the distant future for religious ceremonial reasons and that her dress must be made to her specific, wildly outrageous demands. Ploys designated to tie up the nuptials and bide her time. She watched Rumlow clench his jaw hard enough for a vein to strain and protrude from his neck out of irritation. Somehow, Helena had worn his minimal patience down to meager scraps of self-control, as evidenced by the blistering shade of red his face turned._

_“Stop talking about your stupid Gods, pallakída! You cling to the fruitless illusion of hope attributed to false idols and fabled legends like a pathetic fool. No Gods can save you, for they do not exist. I am your God, your King, and soon your owner!” No sooner than the words left his lips, the consequences swiftly emerged from the heavens above. Rumlow and his crew were unsettled as a storm swept over the horizon and surrounded the Hydrian fleet in a blaze of dark clouds and a blustery wind that smelled of ashes and the promise of death. Lightning crackled in the sky and the waves turned to chaos. The men on the deck screamed to man their stations, incited panic among the sailors, and scrambled for some cover as a tidal wave slammed into the hull with detrimental force. The boat creaked and groaned underneath the pressure, and Rumlow was thrown to the ground by the shuddering. He slammed his head against the flooring and black filtered into his vision, sending a dizzy spell over his body. Screams rang out into the void of the storm, while inky blue waves crashed in full force against the wooden hull as the fury of the gods enveloped the ship in black death clouds and pouring rain from nowhere._

_Only Helena remained unfazed by the destruction and woe befalling the troops of Hydra. She stood firm in the epicenter of the chaos, her arms raised to the sky above and face expressionless. The storm’s winds whipped through her hair and dress, but it was her eyes that told the story of a thousand deaths. They were colored pure gold with no trace of blue in sight, gone with the clear skies upon the storm taking over._

_Rumlow grasped the slick, watery deck while attempting to stand, unable to regain his footing. The violent rocking of the boat between the formidable waves sent Rumlow’s prone body careening for the side of the boat. Several pathetic grunts and gasps escaped Rumlow as he feebly scrambled for something to grasp onto, to keep him from tumbling overboard and into the murky sea below. The winds howled, and the heavens cried in torrential rain as the Winterfell Drakon and the rest of the Hydrian fleet poorly weathered the wrath of the Gods._

_Helena heard the crack echo from her left-hand side and witnessed one of the boats splitting into two and the screams of the men on board as they plummeted into the water below, lost underneath the sadistic waves. She dropped her hands down to her sides, and with that lone gesture, the winds ceased, and the rain cleared. There was no sign of the storm that once enraptured the Hydrian fleet in misery as the men dazedly struggled to their feet. Helena hiked her skirt as she approached Rumlow, face buried into the soaked hardwood._

_“Never insult the Pantheon again,” Helena bitterly hissed her warning to Rumlow with no illusions that he might heed her warning. But rest assured, the Gods were always watching on and no insult would go unpunished. If nothing else, Rumlow glimpsed at what his fate might entail should he continue to speak without forethought or credence to the sovereignty of the Pantheon. Rumlow rubbed at his pained jaw while Helena strode away with her dress flaring out behind her and a poignant, bittersweet victory resting on her shoulders._

Reaching landfall was no better. Soon as Helena stepped foot on Hydra soil, she could feel her soul wither and die. To add embarrassment to her faltering pride, Helena was shackled by Rumlow and his smug, victorious smirk. Her hands bound in iron chains and clasped against her stomach, Helena began her march from the docks to the Triskelion, the Hydrian palace, and through the streets as the conquest belonging to Rumlow and the might of the Hydrian army.

 _The boats reached the harbor, and Helena’s stomach dropped through the floorboards and into the sea below. Her heart was not far behind._ _Should she have pitched herself from the ship’s ledge when she had the chance and begged the Gods to save her? Had she made a grave error in turning herself over to Hydra?_

_“Prepare to march to the Triskelion!” Rumlow declared to the troops gathered in pristine formation behind him and Helena, who he bound to him by iron shackles around her wrists, and he carried the short chain that held control over where she went. There would be no struggling or resisting or dragging her feet with him in command. With Rumlow and Helena leading the way, the troops marched synchronously behind them. Upon reaching the streets, the citizens—dirtied and dressed in rags—cheered at the return of their prince and his army. But all eyes were laid upon the woman of unspeakable beauty, the likes of which no Hydrian had ever seen. They heard tales of other lands, filled with goddesses who outshone the imagination of mortal beauty, and there one stood beside their future king._

_Helena kept her eyes forward to avoid looking back into the eyes of those gawking at her. Hands would reach out from the crowd to grab her, touch her. She stifled the urge to squirm away from their touch as the guards behind her would shoo their hands away. Helena did not blame the citizens of Hydra, for she knew they were innocents and called to her gods for mercy upon them within the same silent prayer where she pleaded for Rumlow to meet his bitter, justly deserved end. Her soft heart, overwhelmed by hate, sought out the only thing she knew: kindness. Up ahead loomed the ominous, dark palace known as the Triskelion._

_Her new “home.”_

The series of misfortunes that delivered her to Hydra’s door was forever emblazoned into Helena’s memory, tainted with red-color and disgust. She was paraded as no more than a prize to be won for a showy demonstration of Hydra’s power. Helena heard the thudding of heavy boots against the creaky stairs outside her bedroom, and she whirled around, knowing someone was coming.

Without a semblance of respect or even a courtesy knock, the door flew open to reveal Rumlow with his shirt mostly unbuttoned and reeking of sex. Helena was no fool; she knew Rumlow possessed at least one mistress. He felt no need to hide it and that remained a subject of widespread gossip among the palace staff. Rumlow publicly chastised Helena that the reason he kept Sharon, his mistress, was because Helena deemed herself untouchable before marriage—or so Rumlow believed. Helena often ran into the blonde in the halls when forcefully escorted between meals by an armed guard and always found herself on the receiving end of a hateful glare. Sharon was a woman of low-class, smelling like musty ale and looser than a gold-hungry mercenary’s tongue. Helena typically would refrain from such language about another woman in a world where their power lied with their bodies, but Sharon would sooner slit her throat and lick up the bloody mess for a chance to be Rumlow’s wife. With that, she slandered Helena in every other breath between her penchant for lewd comments or bouts of certifiable madness. Sharon certainly kept Rumlow’s bed warm and occupied as Helena refused to. So, the two women did not necessarily see eye to eye.

“Helena, Helena, looking ravishing, I see. Your beauty is… intoxicating,” Rumlow slurred, and Helena knew that he was either drunk or on the way there. Rumlow reached forward to grope her breasts, which were tantalizingly peeking from the neckline of her gown, but Helena covered her bosom under protective arms and prevented his touch from reaching her.

“How dare you? Do not touch me, or have I not made that clear enough for you?” An affronted Helena gasped while she shielded herself from Rumlow through distance. There was great power in wrath as she unfortunately discovered through her experiences with the Hydrians. Helena established numerous times her desire to remain chaste until marriage, and her decision was determined as defiance.

Locking her away acted as a punishment for her unwillingness to lie with Rumlow when he demanded, masquerading as an attempt to respect her vow of chastity. Her freedom imprisoned on the condition of her purity. But should she give herself away to Rumlow, Helena could not believe that she would suddenly gain privileges. Her purpose was solely dedicated to bearing the heirs of Hydra’s throne and remaining a silent figure of oppression over the Hydrian people, nothing more than a mute concubine stripped of any recognition as a woman of royal blood. 

Helena shut her eyes, focused on quelling the white-hot force festering in her bosom and flooding her senses with raw, untamed power. Her spirit, awakened by righteous fury, stirred within her like the sleeping drakon from an eons-long slumber. She swallowed back the venom frothing in her throat or the inferno raging in her stomach; she was rivaled by none, not even the sun.

“Do you hate me, little Princess? Do I make your blood boil? Do I make you afraid? You should fear me,” Rumlow question, growing ever more imprudent and reckless with his declarations made to Helena. Had he forgotten who she was? The man was intoxicated on the control and fear he instilled in his subjects. He thrived on people’s fear, the power it bestowed upon him. He made a mockery of people’s hatred, their livid disdain for his entitlement. When he attempted to lay his hands on Helena once more, she skirted back and spat in his face.

“I am not afraid of you. You will never hold that satisfaction over me. My hate for you runs deeper than your ego. You could die tomorrow and you’re your well-deserved fate at the hands of Lorerin for all I care,” Helena declared while she watched a bewildered Rumlow blink and furiously wipe the spit staining his cheek. Wrathful and defensive, Helena’s body adopted a glow just beyond the mortal eye but felt in spades by the mortal soul. Rumlow subconsciously leaned away from the sudden heat invading the room, and the sensation of his skin burning.

“Have it your way, _pallakída_.” Rumlow dismissively growled, acting like it was he who was trespassed against and slammed the door behind him. Helena visibly flinched at the sound, and she hated herself for doing so, knowing it was Rumlow’s attempt to frighten her into submission. She picked at the skirt of her [luxurious, gold-accented dress](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/29/94/45/2994455d073152cdc465b93286e68b0a.jpg) that made her feel so tainted as she was clothed by her captors in the finest materials across the Seven Kingdoms while the people of Hydra starved in the streets. The collar of jewels around her neck suffocated her, feeling more like the shackles of a prisoner than the symbolic measure of her grace and status. That and the light shade of green reminded her of the tiles lining the floor of the temple dedicated to the All-Father on Kapaneos’s top. Another wave of homesickness overwhelmed her, leaving Helena to choke back on the swell of tears and the threat of vomit churning around her stomach. How much longer could she withstand this hell? She could barely fathom the thought of him now. She knew that becoming his wife was a fate less preferable than pitching herself from her window’s leg onto the unforgiving ground below.

“I shall not allow that monster to break me. Perhaps I should pray? My faith in the Pantheon keeps me alive, keeps me strong,” Helena murmured to no one but the lonely shadow on the wall that was her reflection, her sole companion throughout the long days and nights of her trapped within the tower. Helena drew the curtains of the room shut and reveled in the sudden darkness. Before, she hated the dark but found it to soothe her after all that occurred since leaving Eprana. She blindly fumbled back to the bed and laid herself atop the bedspread, the coolness sinking into her feverish skin and delivering her from the throes of fury.

She closed her eyes and sprawled across the bed, each exhale forcing her weight to sink lower and lower. Her body drifted into limpness and the world around her faded out of existence, falling mute and pitch black. No distractions, no intruders, and no impurities disrupting her tether to the Anteia, or the halfway realm between the Gods and mortals. She visited this place in the heat of her dreams when there was a message awaiting her from the heavens and Helena knew a presence drew her to the sanctuary of the Anteia. Someone was waiting for her there.

Through the darkness came light, blinding white and achingly familiar of a home, and Helena tumbled through the frail barrier between realms. She landed at the bank of the [sky-colored lake](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fb2a8d23e63405cb93758586d6f16025/tumblr_ps2s1dnxXt1tqd2tco1_400.jpg) stretching as far as the eye could see and forever a liquid sunrise underneath the ivory columns. The air smelled of cherry blossom petals and honeyed wine, indicating who awaited her; she was an old friend.

“Divella,” Helena greeted, not needing to turn around to know her friend was there. She smelled the whiff of fragrant pomegranate, sweet plums, and spiced honey through the air—Divella’s calling card. She glanced over her shoulder to the ever-changing face of the goddess of love. At this moment, her hair was spun gold, and her eyes the color of warm mahogany. In the next, she could have piercing blue eyes and raven’s wing hair. The goddess of love aimed to be desirable to all who laid eyes upon her; she was a mirror into one’s greatest desires, a chameleon of changing faces. Divella opened her arms wide in offering a warm embrace to the friend she lost.

“Helena, you came,” Divella whispered, thankful she recognized the beckoning of someone expecting her. She was limited in what she could do for Helena and how she might help under the restrictions of fate. Fate was a metaphysical force beyond the control of the Pantheon themselves, something even they were restricted by, and divine intervention was reserved for the rarest, most dire of circumstances.

“Of course, I did. Anything to take me away from the misery of being Rumlow’s prisoner for a little while,” Helena remarked quietly, and she brushed her hair away from her face to tuck behind her ears. She walked herself from under the archway and out toward the lake. She lingered at the edge of the cold, undisturbed waters. “You have an urgent summons for me?”

“Yes. Do not despair, Helena, for you are destined to be free of Hydra. The winds of change race across the Pytheas Sea with news that shall ease your misery. There is a man, written in your path by fate-” Divella declared from behind her, but Helena interrupted her, not intending to be rude or presumptuous. Instead, she was crestfallen by the news. She was hoping for something more along the lines of her father’s or Eprana’s survival or thriving.

“Ah, yes… Is that not how every story begins?” Helena chuckled darkly, resisting the temptation to scream in anger or cry some more. She buried her forehead into her warm palms and her elbows perched themselves uncomfortably against the swell of her bosom. More than anything, she felt like a useless, easily manipulated pawn in the games of man. First, there was Rumlow invading her home, threatening her people, and throwing around his illegitimately obtained power to coerce her into coming with him and subjugating herself to his cruelty and unwanted sexual advances. According to Divella, there would be another man and Helena felt her stomach uncomfortably drop into the ground. She could not imagine a fate worse than Rumlow, and she feared this newcomer might prove her wrong.

“Not quite the way you are expecting, Helena,” Divella elaborated with the faint twinkle of bemused amusement hidden behind her ever-changing eyes. She understood her frustration with the given situation, given her status as royal blood. Divella rested her hands against Helena’s shoulders, “This man wishes you no harm or to diminish your authority as Princess of Eprana. He shall deliver you from Rumlow’s cruelty, whisk you away somewhere safe, and bestow upon you the purest love one can experience on the mortal plane—the kind that men die for. He will worship the ground you walk on and would die a thousand deaths so that you might live happy and free.”

“Is that so?” Helena inquired, seemingly less skeptical but afraid her words were too good to be true. In this world, detached from the cruelty of her cage, she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with her heart. She felt so battered from the verbal harassment, so worn down from the isolation, so agonized by her violent homesickness. Every day was a battle that began from when she awoke at dawn and ended during the late hours of the night when she won the battle of wills to sleep.

“It is so. He was created as your other half, designed by the will of fate, to be your protector. Together, you make two halves of a whole heart, a whole soul. You were meant to be his and he to be yours, no one else’s,” Divella confirmed sincerely, watching Helena visibly perk up and her once crestfallen expression transform into a hopeful one. Divella’s news, although not what she anticipated, included something revolutionary within it—hope. Holding hope underneath Rumlow’s cruelty was a revolutionary act within itself.

When she was younger, her father used to read her stories about legends. In Epranan lore, psyhimas were believed to be beings who once shared a single soul and a love so strong that they were split apart. Frequently, the love stories of legend or myth revolved around psyhimas. Supposedly, everyone had a psyhima, but so rarely did people discover their psyhima within their lives—often dying without ever knowing. The love psyhimas shared was the kind that could part oceans or move mountains. Whatever leftover reservation or fear of the future nesting in her heart blossomed into a vision of hope. Helena could hold on, knowing there was salvation on the horizon, and the slowly dying kindling of hope that sparked on Eprana returned to her in renewed life.

“Tell me about him! Please,” Helena breathlessly pleaded with Divella, needing to know all she could about her psyhima. How would she find him when he came for her? Would he see that she was his and his alone? There were so many questions swirling around in her mind that they drowned out the negativity and deep depression that characterized her life since leaving Eprana.

“He is a man of power, not a king or direct royalty but a man of military honors. He is just, wise, and kindhearted. He is brave and loyal, and trustworthy. He is very handsome. His eyes are like the sky on a summer’s morning when there are no clouds in sight of the eye. His hair reminds me of the hue golden barely turns when glinting in the afternoon sun,” Divella described him while she took Helena’s face between her soft, untarnished hands. From her words, Helena desperately imagined what he might look like or what his voice might sound like. Divella imparted flashes of this man into Helena’s mind, fleeting and vague like a fading dream. When she saw him, she would know who he was. Helena saw a picture of baby blue eyes and spun gold hair rustling through the breeze of the ocean and the curve of a strong jaw and regal profile.

“What more can you tell me?” Helena clung to whatever scraps of information she got as they became her lifeline, her motivating reason to survive whatever hells awaited her in Rumlow or living under Hydra control. She wanted everything she could know about the man who would soon overtake her dreams and consume her waking thoughts until they met.

“There is not much else I can, but he is known as-” Divella started to speak, but, to Helena, her voice vanished while her lips still moved. Helena nearly cried when she realized what was happening. She was not ready to go yet—she needed more time.

“Divella-!” Helena gasped when the paradise around her flickered dangerously, telling Helena the connection was being severed from her end. This meant something in the mortal world pulled her back and Helena, knowing she could take no chances in a hostile environment like the Triskelion, ended the connection prematurely. She would never get to find out what else Divella would tell her about her savior.

Helena floated between consciousness and the Anteia before a sharp reversal left her plummeting through the darkness… until her eyes snapped open and revealed her to be in her chambers within the Triskelion. Surrounding her on all sides were the maids dedicated to her every need by King Pierce, Rumlow’s adoptive father and the King of Hydra.

Pierce, unlike his “son,” pretended to be a good man or a good king. But be assured, he was cruel and calculated. He was a dangerous enemy, for he was the kind one did not see until it was too late.

“My lady, please awaken! We are here to get you prepared upon Prince Brock’s orders,” Eunice, the head maid, exclaimed while two nameless, mute maids threw open the curtains and filled the room with the first breakthroughs of the sun through the murky skies. The light never lasted too long, so Helena learned to savor what little she got. Eunice had only introduced herself when Helena first came to the palace, and she never felt comfortable inquiring names. She trusted no one in this Gods forsaken palace.

“What? Why?” Helena groggily questioned while she rubbed at her eyes, cautious not to smudge the residual makeup from earlier in the day. Rumlow ordered that she must always remain presentable and ready for display to outsiders. Never before had Helena despised makeup with such unending loathing.

“We have an important guest, my lady. An envoy from the kingdom Manhattan, led by General Steven Rogers, the Shield of Manhattan!” Eunice explained, which enticed Helena’s attention with the idea of Manhattan and Hydra, sworn enemies, coming for a meeting. More importantly, the leader of the envoy received particular and unique notice from Helena. A general, they say? Helena wordlessly sat up as her maids escorted her to the bathroom, where a bath would be prepared. Rumlow ordered that she be ready and on display when the envoy reached the throne room. She was their biggest prize, their proudest spoil of conquest, and the one they wished to flaunt before Manhattan.

Helena recalled Divella’s urgent, interrupted description of her psyhima as the words were rattling around in her mind after the maids mentioned the Manhattan envoy; something inside of her gravitated back to her friend’s warning.

 _“He is a man of power, not a king or direct royalty but a man of military honors_.”

Helena’s mind busily snapped the pieces together. The leader of the envoy, Steve Rogers, he was a general. That was a position of military power. Could this General Rogers be the one she sought or who sought her? There was not enough for a definitive confirmation but too much to brush off as mere coincidence, given the timing. Helena knew for certain that Manhattan’s arrival to Hydra painted out an omen—one she would be sure to pay attention to. If one listened closely enough, fate spoke in the arrival of coincidences and strange displays of fortune. Helena, considering all she experienced at Rumlow’s hands, could use a change in her fortune for the better.

*** _pallakída_ \- concubine, in Epranan; * _psyhima_ \- soulmate in Epranan**


	3. The General of Manhattan

_Hydra, Year 8 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

On the streets of the capital, all eyes were on the armored yet disarmed foreigners walking among them in an unbroken processional—flanked on all sides by members of the Hydrian army. Whispers rose up as did the occasional jeer or slur lobbed from an angry voice in the crowd of people at the presence of their enemy, but General Steve Rogers of Manhattan marched along with his head pointed toward the Triskelion. He paid no mind to the chatter as that was not his job, nor did he care about what the Hydrians believed of him. Hydra’s propensity for propaganda made it a likely assumption to guess that he was the villain of their nation’s great uprising—well, one of them. Steve felt a nudge on his left from his longtime friend and fellow soldier, Commander James Buchanan Barnes (went by Bucky among comrades).

“What a warm welcome for peace,” Bucky remarked, the sarcasm not lost among his companions while shielded from the hostile guards surrounding them. His dark eyes glared at the guards who stared for too long and they heeded the warning of the Winter Soldier. All the members of the envoy earned a name for themselves. He, the ruthless killing machine known as the Winter Soldier who could tear a man apart limb from limb with his bare hands.

“Hydra has never been interested in peace. They just think us stupid enough to buy that they might be,” Lieutenant Sam Wilson, his other good friend and a soldier of great renowned, remarked from the end of the line. His shoulders bristled and the discomfort seemed more pronounced without his favorite armor, marking him as the Falcon. An aerial terror, opponents learn to watch the skies for the whistle of his metallic wings sewn together with an iron grip and the kiss of fortune. Some attach the adjective of “red” to his moniker for the trail of bodies he left in his wake. None of the envoy trusted the Hydrians, their prettified words, or their potential motives, but Sam appeared the most vocally cynical of the whole peace talk endeavor. He continued, “I am still not sold that this is not a trap.”

“Hydra is clever; their leaders know that killing four prominent members of the Manhattan forces would result in all-out bloodshed and Hydra being wiped from the map. As much as Hydra wants control, they are in no position to win the war.” The final voice of the party, Natasha Romanova, chimed in with her assessment of the situation. On the ledger, when entering Hydra, General Rogers dictated her position as King Anthony’s aide and a non-military civilian of Manhattan. Hydra would never allow an enemy spymaster on the shores of the kingdom, let alone inside the walls of the palace and certainly not one as dangerous as the Black Widow. Legends of her spread fear through the ranks of opposing armies, and none who challenged her lived to tell the tale or relay what she looked like. Sam snorted, his form of agreement that circumvented the need for snarky comment.

“As much as I agree with what has been discussed thus far, I should caution against it. We are in a public setting, and I know that discussing these matters when within palace walls comes with greater risk for spies or enemy ears.” Steve sternly whispered, and the others nodded, heading his well-founded warning. He might despise political machinations with an unrestrained passion but make no mistake: he considered himself a decent enough player to get through the negotiation of surrender without wishing to stab himself with his own sword. Their words no longer belonged to them and might become weapons to use against them during the planned farse of peace talks.

Among his companion, Steve held the most credibility and battle experience to his name, for there exists a reason that he claims the unparalleled title of General in Manhattan’s army. His ascent into leadership and storied history of distinguished heroics when Hydra attempted an assault on Manhattan eight years ago. Back then, he was a fresh-faced Captain in the King’s army who underwent an attempt at transformative magic to create the perfect soldier. The experiment was successful, but the formula could never be replicated, making Steven Rogers one-of-a-kind. Barely eighteen and with a world resting on his shoulders like the curse of Atlas, Steve hardly shied away from the dangers of war. He, a patriot of his country, inspired the army of Manhattan to fight a seemingly losing battle. Grabbing the sword of a fallen comrade and armed with a broken shield, he raised it high and yelled a battle cry for all the troops to hear. His conquest started as a one-man battle against a wave of enemies, but his inspired allies returned to the field in a stunning effort to turn the tide. The Battle of Brooklyn forever cemented the legend of General Rogers into the history of Manhattan and the adoration of her people. From then, Steve led the charge and developed close, friendly ties with the royal family. They supported him, and he, in turn, fought for them with his life. 

He was an honorable warrior while on the field of battle, driven by righteousness and mercy. However, there was little mercy for those pledging allegiance to Hydra for all the blood of his loved ones staining their hands. He lost many friends to Hydra’s greed and ambition, and no amount of righteousness in the Seven Kingdoms might persuade him to embrace peace should he find himself with the opportunity to burn Hydra to ash and dust. He was efficient, drive, and given strength beyond the blessings of any mortal man.

“Yes General,” Bucky vocalized agreement for himself, Sam, and Natasha. Here, they dared not to utilize familiarity or terms of endearment, which might bestow an advantage onto the enemy. Their protection came paramount and enforced a series of protective measures, which included them staying in one room and holding vigil with guard rotations, not using their real names or nicknames while in the presence of enemy ears, and hiding weapons on Natasha for the worst case of a fight. Upon the General’s orders, they embraced the silence and marched on toward the Triskelion.

Up from the docks of the city and through the dirty, cobblestone roads of the capital, the Manhattan envoy reached the exterior of the Triskelion Palace. Gloomy, imposing, and reeking of the all-too-familiar scent of death, none of the Manhattan envoy were enthusiastic about entering the Triskelion, but a royal edict from their king made refusal impossible. With General Rogers leading the way, they walked through the halls of the Hydrian palace and to see the contrast between the way the royals lived compared to the lives of their people hit with sickening starkness. While people roamed the streets, gaunt and impoverished, the royalty of Hydra lived their days in dark-toned opulence and riches built on the backs of the common man and slick with the blood of faceless soldiers thrown at whichever cause caught the fancy of King Pierce or Prince Rumlow.

Eventually, the Manhattan envoy reached the throne room where it lay in the centermost chamber of the Triskelion. Dark patterned walls accented by gold pillars created the illusion of majesty to mask the darkness lingering in the room, emboldened by the man that seated himself on the throne of bones. Standing upon the center of the dais, King Alexander Pierce wore his best ceremonial robes and his most gleaming crown atop his grimy head. His smile appeared benign, almost welcoming for a backhanded snake and Steve pondered the chance of there being a sharpened dagger hidden behind his back while he spoke lofty lies about peace between Manhattan and Hydra. He once stood as a proud member of King Howard Stark’s royal advisors. Now, his name was synonymous with treason and the mark of a traitor.

Beside him, Prince Brock Rumlow who alternated between a smug expression when watching the envoy approach but unrelenting hatred simmering in his eyes when focusing on General Rogers. Steve was nowhere near surprised. If Pierce acted as the counterpart to Tony, then Rumlow was his opposite, and the two men could not be further apart. Rumlow killed because it satisfied him, stole because he could, and indulged while others starved. He was a criminal who got handed enough power to make the position his plaything and responsibility a lost art. He was no soldier of merit; his position came as a consequence of his bloodline and he sent plenty of men to die in his stead while he lazed about his castle with his liquor, fine food, and harem of whores. Rumlow considered Steve to be his greatest rival, while Steve thought Rumlow to be an entitled bum not worth his time.

But, off to the side and shoved to the left, stood Princess Helena. Rumlow’s hand gripped her at the wrist and the contact made her wish for the sweet, pardoning release of death’s guiding hand. That would free her from the prison of her life in Hydra and bring her home by way of Lorerin’s dark chariot. Steve witnessed her shoulders slump and the way her eyes lingered on the floor unwaveringly, her posture showing her efforts to become smaller, more invisible to the eye in hopes that she could simply disappear. However, a feat like that would be impossible for a woman as breathtakingly beautiful as she.

Clothed in the most exquisite [gown of modest blue chiffon](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/d8/87/ec/d887ec49e97514d07794a91eef958806.jpg) while exposing a fair sliver of skin to the wandering eye, Helena appeared the prize of a proud Rumlow. Her brunette tresses cascaded abundantly over her shoulders while her eyes brimmed with unshed tears aimed for the floor. From what the outsiders could see of her delicate features, they knew her to be the lost princess of Eprana.

“Look up, little Princess,” A forceful command whispered by Rumlow forced Helena’s gaze to part ways from the polished marble floors and greet their guests with the generosity befitting royalty, as it was generosity that the enemies of the kingdom were not made examples of. Although Rumlow considered how splendidly the sight of General Rogers’ blood or that of his chosen companions might accentuate the floors of the throne room while serving as a reminder of the power belonging to Hydra.

Helena’s eyes reluctantly peeled from the protection of the floor as she blinked back tears, and their line of sight settled on General Rogers, staring back at her. The air swiftly departed her lungs when taking in the famed Manhattan warrior with her own two eyes. _His eyes are like the sky on a summer’s morning when there are no clouds in sight of the eye. His hair reminds me of the hue golden barely turns when glinting in the afternoon sun._ Divella’s words rattled around in her mind and she found herself unable to look away from him, which he noticed.

There was no doubt in her mind when staring into the blue of his eyes, the same ones that flashed through her mind from Divella’s blessing, and she knew that General Rogers and her psyhima were one and the same. Her salvation had come.

“General Rogers, it is an honor to host you and your companions for such a historic moment in peace negotiations!” Pierce greeted the envoy, his voice booming over the abandoned throne room, where the Manhattan envoy would normally expect gaggles of nobility or palace servants to move through with their frivolous but ultimately delightful conversations. Instead, the lack of people left the Triskelion feeling lifeless and destitute in spirit. Upon hearing his formal title from the King, Steve reluctantly tore his eyes away from Helena to acknowledge Pierce. This exchange was not lost on Rumlow or Steve’s companions, who observed how Princess Helena longingly stared after Steve with her eyes telling a thousand stories and an admiring sort of yearning written all over her ethereal features. Her expression reminded them of someone reunited with a long-lost friend or close companion with the familiarity delicately interlaced within the soft glimmer of her startlingly blue eyes.

“King Pierce, it is an honor to bear witness to such a moment of greatness between our two kingdoms and humbly thank you for your acceptance to hold these peace negotiations,” Steve replied evenly, maintaining a stoic demeanor as strong as Pierce’s attempt at innocent kindness, something he was not capable of mustering besides empathy or human decency. He cleared his throat when sneaking a glance over at Princess Helena, whose face brightened when their eyes met yet again. He could stare at her all day- but he must resist the temptation to give away his innermost thoughts. He gestured over to his companions while studying Rumlow and Pierce, hardening his stance and face. “I am sure you know who I am. Might I introduce my companions? This is Commander Barnes, Lieutenant Wilson, and Lady Romanoff of King Anthony Stark’s royal house.”

“Welcome, gentlemen, and fair lady to Hydra. We hope that your stay and the provided accommodations befit your expectations,” Pierce remarked and almost chuckled at that like there lay a joke between him and the envoy. Steve and the others felt their stomachs curdle in disgust as Pierce smiled at them, ever the seasoned politician peddling lies as easily as he breathed. Frankly, none of the envoy would be all that surprised should their quarters turn out to be dingy cells where guards watched them on a constant cycle.

“Yes, welcome,” Rumlow echoed his father’s sentiments hollowly, sounding far from welcoming. Unlike his father, Rumlow found himself unable to hide his true feelings about their guests in the envoy and his pent-up anger directed at Steve slipped through his tongue. His unrestrained commentary earned him a sharp, threatening glare from his father on his right-hand side.

“Although there is much to discuss with the negotiations, I do implore you to join me for dinner with my son, the prince, and our esteemed guest in Princess Helena of Eprana.” Pierce continued without incident or hesitation, adding to the unease experienced by all not of Hydra within the room. His words suggested the presence of choice, but his tone implied that no force on heaven or earth would provide an acceptable excuse to his hospitality. At the word guest, Helena’s eyes flashed disgustedly, and all of the Manhattan envoy understood that, to Pierce, “guest” implied his captive in the Epranan princess. So, with nothing to lose, Helena turned her attention toward the envoy and capture General Rogers’ gaze onto her.

Steve happened to look over to see Helena, her face pleading with him to stay and endure dinner, to not leave her alone with the monsters she stood beside against her will. He had seen that wild look many a time on the faces of caged animals. He supposed the captive princess, who his heart cried out for, felt no different than an animal backed into a cramped cage.

“We would be honored, your Majesty,” Natasha decided on behalf of the group, and her smooth interjection kept Rumlow or Pierce from noticing the silent understanding passing between Steve and Helena, telegraphed through stares. None of the envoy wanted Helena to find herself in danger at Rumlow’s hands, for he would detest the idea of his “prize” making eyes at his sworn enemy in General Rogers.

“Please, proceed to the dining hall. We shall join you shortly. Guards, ensure that our guests do not find themselves lost. The halls of the Triskelion are quite tricky to navigate.” Pierce declared and the darkness of his smile implied something else entirely. The Manhattan envoy was tense as the guards approached them and marched them off toward the dining hall. Helena turned her head to watch them pass, and her attention fixed onto General Rogers with such ferocity that she likely could not look away, even if she wished to. The wistful sigh that left her lips did not go unnoticed by Rumlow, who turned a dark purple shade of anger in his face and stopped Helena from heading after the guards toward the dining room by standing between her and the open doors. When she tried to move around him, his hand grabbed her wrist and kept her from moving any further. She jerked her arm, but his grip refused to loosen, and Rumlow forced her to face him.

“I see the way that the General stares at you, little Princess. There is hunger in his eyes and covets what I have for himself, the selfish bastard. He and his greedy country would steal what belongs to me and you… you shall not give him any reason to take you from me. Cavorting with an enemy of Hydra would warrant a penalty of the highest price,” Rumlow growled. At the same time, he painfully forced Helena’s chin up to look at him when she disinterestedly turned her attention away from his incoherently enraged rambling. Helena clenched her jaw and resisted screaming back at him that she was not loyal to him, certainly not above the bond she carried with her psyhima. But announcing General Rogers’ divinely decided connection to her would put him and his companions in sufficient danger. So, she stayed silent, and her silence pleased Rumlow greatly as the little princess always seemed to have something to say these days. He bared his teeth in a wolfish sneer, “Therefore, I order you to serve your purpose like an obedient wife ought to.”

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Rumlow. I hope that you are proud to threaten a woman you consider weak and helpless,” Helena rigidly whispered back, resisting the urge to spit in his face as she knew such blatant disrespect would draw the ire of Rumlow and Pierce. Although Rumlow treated her poorly, his cruelty compared nowhere near that of Hydra’s self-appointed king. Her words had the intended effect of needling Rumlow at his core and he jerkily released her face from his uncomfortable grip.

Helena resisted smirking or rubbing where Rumlow fingers desecrated her demand that she not be touched by his dirtied hands. She maintained an unfazed visage despite the racing of her heartbeat or the urge to shiver sitting as a lump in her bosom. Inside, she was terrified but refused to let Rumlow hold any more power over her than the physical imprisonment he had her under. Rumlow attempted to loop their arms together in custom, but Helena dismissively moved her arm out of reach. The three, accompanied by guards, embarked into the dining hall for the welcome dinner for their “guests.”

When Pierce, Rumlow, and Helena entered the room, the Manhattan envoy was placed around the table and separated by at least a chair between them. The intention was to keep them from conspiring while in the presence of Pierce and Rumlow, not considering Helena’s added presence. If she had to guess, she would assume that Rumlow and Pierce underestimated her tactical abilities and figured her too daft to engineer an escape with their guests while they looked on. That showed neither man knew the first thing about her.

Somehow, the Gods or Fate aligned the stars for her and her psyhima, the seating arrangement ended up with Helena and General Rogers sitting across the table from each other, which allowed Helena to hold his attention. She fluttered her lashes when standing at her seat across from him, and he swallowed thickly when under her gaze, pointedly ignoring the way his companions all looked at him. To them, it was no secret that Steve found the princess of beauty beyond imagination or what words could ever convey. If the burgeoning smile fighting to break through her flat, cold demeanor suggested anything, it would say that the feeling of awe was a mutual sensation.

Rumlow, although greatly displeased by the seating arrangement that left his conquest bride-to-be sitting across from his mortal enemy, said nothing to his father on the matter. Lest the young and brash prince desire to evoke his father’s ire. Therefore, he resigned himself to watching General Rogers for any sign of untoward move directed at Helena for the excuse to lose his laughable excuse for patience. He simmered in contemptuous silence like a scolded child while Helena, looking brighter than any of her days in the Triskelion’s halls, studied General Rogers with sparkling eyes and her mind ran away with wonder. The man of her salvation and her promised lover by Divella’s heavenly grace sat across from her and so many thoughts burst forth in Helena’s mind. Did General Rogers harbor any attraction toward her yet, or did he not have the slightest clue of who she was meant to be for him?

Through the serving of the main courses, Steve found his attention thoroughly captivated by Princess Helena sitting across from him. Unless he was directly addressed by Pierce, who appeared in quite the talkative mood, his eyes were linked with Helena’s. His eyes curiously traced down every inch of her and studied her elegant, dainty movements. In return, Helena dragged her eyes up and down from his face to the ceremonial armor he wore that she knew hid a warrior’s body littered by scars and the stories of a battle-hardened heart. At one point, he nearly jumped out of his chair when he felt something brush up against and curl around his ankle until he realized it was none other than the princess. He searched her eyes and found the twinkle of good-natured mischief, bringing life to the dead rooms of the Triskelion. Pierce seemed mostly uninterested in anything not himself, and missed the way that General Rogers eyed up his son’s betrothed, which served to worsen Rumlow’s anger brimming beneath the surface.

The dinner eventually winded down to an end, and Pierce decided that the envoy was dismissed from the table, whether they wished to be or not. He summoned his guards to lead them to their chambers on the far side of the Triskelion. While the accommodations appeared better than what Steve and the others feared, the intent of isolating them within the Triskelion’s walls could not be ignored. Ignoring the protests of the guards, the four of them collected their things from their rooms and chose the room belonging to Steve as their shared room. A well-placed death glare from Natasha scared the guards into submission and, although they would never admit it, she scared them more than Pierce or Rumlow. They slammed the door shut and dead-bolted it behind them, making a barrier between them and anyone who dared to enter.

“There is much to discuss,” Steve declared without a moment to lose, pacing the floor with a scowl to convey a world of questions mounting on his shoulders. He saw Helena’s face flash in his mind. He swallowed thickly, “Mainly that our worst fears about the confrontation of Hydra and Eprana forces ended with the forced surrender of Princess Helena.” At the mention of the princess, Sam and Bucky and Natasha all glanced over to Steve in unrestrained surprised, but they should have realized this might happen. Princess Helena clearly bewitched their friend if the whole dinner was any indication.

“Are we not going to talk about the audacity of the General to woo Rumlow’s lady through stares while he sits in perfect view of the whole thing?” Bucky broke the silence first with a cheeky remark and the wiggling of his brows. As he was Steve’s oldest friend, knowing him since childhood before he became a national hero, he considered it his duty to relentlessly tease him when a beautiful dame stole common sense from him and left him with nothing but a love-stricken heart.

“More like Princess Helena was a willing participant of the very sensual courting. She practically undressed him with her eyes,” Sam corrected with the grin of a court jester plastered across his face while he exaggeratedly pretended to swoon into Bucky’s open arms. The two of them snickered when observing the way Steve’s ears burned bright red to match his cheeks. So, he did fancy the princess, a taken woman but one who seemed keen on him. 

“You both are fools. That poor girl desires freedom more than she does any man, no offense General,” Natasha slapped Sam and Bucky upside their heads and gave an apologetic look to Steve on behalf of Bucky and Sam. Steve sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should have expected such comments from his friends on the matter, but this was not the ideal time. He meant business when he mentioned Helena, who was trapped in these walls like a prisoner of war.

“If we are discussing the Princess, then we should discuss that she is a prisoner of war and taking her from Eprana was a clear violation of the law of the Seven Kingdoms. Rumlow and Pierce are hoping that no one challenges them on it and by letting them get away with this, it proves to them that no one will stand up to them!” Steve smoothly reverted the conversation back to a serious matter, and he imagined Helena’s eyes, brimming with unshed tears and a look of pain, which caused him to ache, meeting his in that forsaken throne room. He needed to find some way to liberate her.

“That might be true, yet what can we do? If we conspire to abduct her from this place, that might warrant a renewed war effort and sabotage any headway made during these negotiations with Hydra.” Natasha reasoned with Steve, sensing his conflicting emotions and afraid he might, for once, let feelings jeopardize the mission at hand. She understood that he wanted to save the princess, she did. However, at what cost would that come? How many people might die because of that choice?

“But leaving her here, in Rumlow’s possession, is not right either. You saw her face and the petrified stare on it. She does not want to be here, nor should she be. She was taken from her rightful home by a greedy, evil man for his own means and satisfaction.” Steve retorted sharply, and his companions saw a mixture of emotions written in his eyes. No one knew how to respond, but the opportunity came and went with a shock. From behind Steve, a shower of golden light descended from the ceiling and materialized into a humanoid shape behind him. Seeing the startled expressions, Steve turned around and his posture violently stiffened when the gold faded away to reveal a woman of great beauty. Unbeknownst to the Manhattan envoy, none of them realized that the image of the ethereal and glowing woman standing before them differed among their eyes. Steve audibly gasped and he stepped forward, seemingly nervous.

“Princess Helena? How did you get in here?” Steve questioned, finding himself at a loss and trying not to stammer over himself.

“General, that is not Princess Helena-” Natasha, Sam, and Bucky interjected at the same time, causing Steve to glance back at them in confusion and the woman to laugh. Her laugh, airy and gentle like the chime of jovial bells, soothed any discomfort in the room with a magic efficiency. 

“Your friends are correct, General Rogers. I am not Princess Helena. Although it is telling that she is who you see. Let me introduce myself. I am Divella of Eprana, the goddess of love and beauty,” Divella introduced with a curtsy, missing the way that the Manhattan envoy gawked when she introduced herself. A goddess? So, the rumors about Eprana were true then? A land touched by divine hands, the same ones they celebrated called the Pantheon. Divella kept her eyes on Steve, watching him start to kneel before her with great reverence he reserved for mortal kings and royals. She stopped him before he could fully do so, encouraging him to look at her wearing Helena’s form. “-And you, General Rogers, are right to concern yourself with Princess Helena for your fates are intertwined. She knows of your connection and I implore you to trust her when she comes to you. She will never harm you.”

“How, if I may ask, my lady?” Steve questioned, eager to understand why he felt drawn to Helena or explain the connection. He sensed a desire to protect her screaming in his veins, but they had never met before this night.

“My lady? Oh, Helena is going to adore you,” Divella cooed, thoroughly delighted by the well-mannered and honorable General Rogers, seeing him as a man worthy of a woman like Helena. No ordinary man could handle the touch of a divine woman like Helena, neither prince nor commoner nor soldier nor famer. Helena was beyond what the mortal world deserved, but General Rogers might prove her wrong. “I cannot tell you as I am still bound by the restrictions of Fate, but I can tell you that you and she are bound together. Protect her as it is your duty. For that, I shall help protect you. On the third night of negotiations, do not accept the wine from a blonde woman named Sharon. She is Rumlow’s mistress, and the wine is poisoned by him. Good luck, General, and may the Pantheon bless all of you.” Divella wished them well and, with her message delivered, ascended into the heavens the same way she came. Steve and his companions witnessed the sparkling shower of gold flutter through the ceiling and vanish, accentuated by a crackle of thunder in the distance.

The Gods of the Pantheon were on their side.


	4. Princess Turned Stowaway

_Triskelion, Year 8 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The call of the dawn stirred Helena from another night of tumultuous sleep, providing the princess with the blessing of a new day, which she counted in grace. That marked day four of the peace negotiations between the Manhattan envoy and Hydra, going on for longer than any of the citizens could believe. Helena did request her presence in the talks as a silent observer in the matter but found herself shut out by Rumlow on the second day. She suspected it had something to do with the way that General Rogers focused on her during the talks or how he mentioned the Hydrian invasion of Eprana’s shores.

When that happened, Helena dared a glance to Rumlow seated beside her and marveled in the blustering shade of purple his face flushed out of irrepressible anger. The move, although appreciated by her, was a dangerous one that intensified the tension simmering between General Rogers and Rumlow. She recalled leaving the chambers with a forceful escort by Rumlow’s personal guards and the longing glance she sent to General Rogers over her shoulder, who watched as she left the room.

Therefore, the outcome left Helena in the dark for the previous days as to what the two opposing sides discussed during the negotiations, and she simmered in frustration. As foolish as she might be to believe so optimistically, the princess pondered over the possibility of negotiations for her release and return to Eprana. The idea was a long shot, yet she prayed day and night for the fruition of her chance.

Rising from her bed, Helena dramatically pulled the curtains open. She bathed the isolated room in the morning’s first light or the streaks of color painted across the sky canvas by the delicate dawn’s artistry. She elegantly walked with bare feet across cold stone floors to her small ottoman, seated before a vanity and a gold-leaf trim mirror that reflected her visage. She had spent many months locked away in this prison, turning pale and gaunt like a phantom cursed to roam these halls with no end in sight. Before the presence of the envoy, she mulled over whether life as Rumlow’s captive and intended wife was worth living through for the unguaranteed possibility of rescue or should she fling herself into the waiting embrace of the sea with a prayer to the Gods to deliver her home one last time. But with the news that salvation lay in the handsome General of the golden kingdom relayed to her through a trusted messenger of the Pantheon, her hope that she made the right decision renewed like the phoenix ascending out of the ashes and embers. She planned to become a phoenix of her own making, reborn from the tragedy of captivity and restored to glory.

Helena sat down atop the ottoman and reached for the gold and bejeweled comb resting not far out of her reach. She admired the comb and the way it caught the straggling rays of sunlight through the open window, smiling as she dragged its teeth through her matted hair. With consistent and thorough brushing, she untangled her brunette tresses until they reflected the healthy sheen and became soft to the touch like the finest silk. She pushed back the hair from her face and, after some consideration, left her cosmetics untouched for the moment. She knew that Rumlow would demand her maids doll her up to his liking when sitting across from her at the breakfast table, acting like he hadn’t come in from a night at the seedy brothel hidden in town or cavorting around with his mistress.

She hardly cared that someone else warmed his bed as they filled the job she did not want, but the hypocrisy of her receiving punishment for the stares of other men tainted her overpowering sense of forgiveness a bitter black.

For now, Helena refused to bend to his whims wherever she could and her ritual of taking a morning walk through the gardens, which were under guard supervision and the only place she might roam freely without earning Rumlow’s ire. He liked her under lock and key, which pushed Helena to the brink of insanity. Not minding her state of dress in a long-sleeved nightgown with the hem of its skirt brushing around her ankles, she departed from her room and quietly descended down the stairs of the tower. She moved nimbly and outwardly avoided the stairs she knew to creak under pressure, learning from her daily trips from her room to the dining hall and back up again.

Moving through the halls, quieter than a thief in the night, Helena moved through the empty corridors with impunity and a sense of unrelinquishable power that no one could steal from her, not even Rumlow. The early hour of the morning provided the illusion of peace she could grasp onto with the most conviction of her broken spirit, which kept her going. She arrived into the main atrium of the Triskelion, but she stopped in the shadow of the archway and quickly pressed herself flat against the wall. She inched toward the opening of the arch and dared not move any closer into view as, stationed on the steps of the staircase leading to the royal chambers, Rumlow and Sharon conversed with each other in hushed tones. Helena craned her neck to catch their conversation without exposing herself for spying, knowing such a deliberate betrayal on her part would incense Rumlow.

“-I visited your chambers yesterday, my lord, and you were not there. I wished to serve you,” Sharon purred seductively, and her revelation elicited a pleased hum from Rumlow, somehow echoing off the hollowed walls of the atrium and ringing in Helena’s ears. If Sharon wished to serve Rumlow, Helena would gladly offer her a switching of places so Sharon could marry the monster known as Hydra’s prince.

“Oh? I am a fool to have missed your visit. In truth, my father demanded my presence during these trite and fruitless peace negotiations with the Manhattan envoy. He believes that we can manipulate them into a favorable outcome of sorts. However, I disagree with my father. Those heathens will never agree to any of our terms in their insubordinate, stubborn prejudice against us. The only way we shall win is through bloodshed and razing their empire to the ground.” Rumlow explained, sounding more upset that he missed the promise of carnal pleasure than the inevitability of fundamental disagreement between the two warring parties.

“How dull! You must be bored by idle prattle and talk by those haughty, pig-headed elites from Manhattan. You were made for the glory of battle and nothing less!” Sharon assured, an apparent stroke of his ego. Helena hardly found herself surprised that Hydrians prided themselves on the slaughter of others like it was sport. 

“Yes, I find myself quite dissatisfied with the idea of negotiating with those spineless cowards, most of all that pathetic, self-serving General Rogers. He is my greatest foe, and I shall never see peace between our nations, so long as I live.” Rumlow declared and the hatred he reserved for General Rogers escaped any sense of control. Helena felt anger bristle in her chest, and a defensive tirade simmers in her mind, begging to fly out. _Rumlow would not know the principles of honor if they bit him in the ass_. She craned her neck more when she heard him clear his throat, “Today, I plan to make them leave and return to Manhattan for good. They have overstayed their welcome and I wish them to be gone. The next time I want to see the General is when I ram his severed head on a pike at the end of the war, which we shall win. My father cannot deny my will, especially when I bait the General into a fight over his wandering eyes on Helena. She belongs to me and me alone, which he will learn the hard way.”

Helena covered her mouth with her hand and braced herself against the wall, feeling her legs threaten to collapse. No- Rumlow could not do that! Spoiling the peace talks meant the Manhattan envoy would be forced to leave Hydra without any resolution, and the war between the Seven Kingdoms would rage on relentlessly if Rumlow’s nonchalant demeanor toward human life demonstrated anything other than his sickening breed of cruelty. Although the urge to heave and release the sickness brewing around in her stomach overwhelmed her mind, she choked back her feelings on the matter and continued to spy on her captor and his mistress.

“Ah! Manhattan is no match for you, my lord,” Sharon praised Rumlow, and Helena could imagine the bastard puffing his chest and smirking at his greatness; a man like Rumlow lived and died by hubris. The hall went silent for a moment, and only when Helena overheard the smothered moans did she realize, in disgust, what was transpiring beyond what she could see. Unable to withstand another moment of it, she fled down the way she came and back toward the sanctuary of her chambers. The garden became long forgotten as Helena ran far far away from Rumlow and Sharon’s sordid display, hoping that she might outrun her doomed fate should she run fast enough.

Upon reaching the stairs, she lurched to a stop and grabbed the wall in support. Running to nowhere would do Helena no good and earn her no favors, which left her without a plan. But then she realized, Rumlow sending the Manhattan envoy away derailed any chance for escape and Helena, drunk on the promise of freedom, refused to let that happen. Rumlow might seek to trap her in this cage but failed to see Helena had enough. Her mind raced with a slew of ideas strung together to form a cohesive sequence of events; she had not much time and her plan felt riddled with potential obstacles, yet she knew she was determined enough to risk it all.

Helena would be liberating herself today, whether or not the Manhattan envoy joined her or not.

Without a moment to lose, Helena bounded up the stairs with such dexterity that she nearly appeared to soar up to her tower for how infrequently she touched the stairs between leaps. She needed to pack lightly for the journey ahead as sneaking out of a heavily guarded palace with an unnecessary abundance of items would only weigh her down. She slipped into her chambers with a quiet shut of the door behind her and snatched up the old, worn satchel she found stowed away during her visit to the castle library. She grabbed her crown that she brought along from Eprana and pushed it down into the satchel. She grabbed two of her favorite dresses from a trunk placed at the foot of her bed and folded them tightly to fit in the satchel. She grabbed the woolen, hooded cloak of midnight black from the trunk, and slipped it on. She secured the necklace she wore and whispered a quick blessing over the charm, waking the slumbering magic within the opal and gold ornament.

The people of Eprana avoided warfare and embraced peace, however, that hardly constituted the assumption that Epranians were above waging war. Helena understood war had consequences, and she felt willing to incur those consequences for regaining her freedom.

Helena pulled the hood over her head to conceal her face from the townspeople, knowing that she might not be recognized without the crown or fancy dresses or the skillfully done cosmetics to enhance her features to someone beyond imagination. With satchel in hand and cloak worn over her features, Helena departed from the tower and navigated through the halls of the Triskelion toward the garden. She knew of a secret gate through the garden she might use if she could slip past without notifying the guards.

When entering the garden, Helena made a beeline for the gate but stopped short when she saw two guards standing watch. Not knowing what to do, she ducked behind the cover from a shrub while she strategized. Her first instinct came, and she should have expected that begging the Pantheon would be her first resort. She would call upon Otos, the patron god of tricksters and magic, for a spell that his divine experience knew where she would not.

“Otos, I leave this in your hands,” Helena whispered, and she held her palm between her and the guards standing at the gate. They were the first obstacle obstructing her from freedom. She felt the trickle of magic slip through her fingers and radiate in unseen waves toward the guards. The guards released a synchronized yawn, glanced at each other, and promptly collapsed in a deep sleep. Helena grinned, and she peeked out from the shrub. She darted past the guards, through the gate, and onto the streets of the capital with the docks on her mind.

Somehow, moving through town to the docks turned out to be the most straightforward step in her grand escape plan. All the days she spent staring out the window from her bedroom in the tallest tower paid off, for she learned the network of the streets from her bird’s eye view. The roads, at that hour, were devoid of people and her perfect recollection guided her through with ease. Soon, she arrived at the docks and spotted the ship looking vastly different from those around it, pinpointing it as the Manhattan ship: The Howling Commando.

The plank was left out for boarding and she rushed across the docks, not wanting to linger in sight for long enough to get spotted. Seeing no one out on the deck, she guessed that the crew was either in town or asleep below deck from what she knew about sea-faring men and the time of day. Daybreak barely began, and the hour of the morning provided the perfect cover for Helena to slip past the defenses of the Triskelion and onto the Howling Commando, the vessel of the Manhattan envoy and General Rogers. She swiftly crossed the deck and approached the first door in sight, managing to get it open and slipping inside.

She found the Captain’s quarters, which likely were given to General Rogers. The décor seemed refined yet functional, with a wooden desk firmly planted on one side of the room and a bookshelf on the other side of the small cabin. She spotted an archway and poked her head through, admiring the bed. There is where she decided to lie in wait until General Rogers came alone, so she might reveal herself. Hours would pass, and the Howling Commando disembarked from Hydra’s docks for a decent while before General Rogers returned to his quarters.

Steve entered his quarters with a soft close of the door and a world of letters on his mind, planning on writing correspondence to various contacts back in Manhattan when making the necessary restock stops along the way. He failed to sense the presence of another in his quarters, which presented as odd with his keen awareness honed from years on the battlefield.

“I suppose you were my salvation after all,” Steve whirled around upon hearing an unfamiliar voice chiming in from his bedroom and his instinct to throw up his guard dropped when he spotted Princess Helena, leaning against the archway of the door. She nestled her golden crown among her luscious waves of brunette and modeled a [gown of ivory silk](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/84/d7/f2/84d7f29d0688b170a6b6ecb53b866a02.jpg) tightly clinging to her form, imploring an image of regality befitting a woman of royalty. Helena pushed herself off the archway and she slowly approached General Rogers, smiling when he met her in the middle with astonishment in his eyes.

“Princess, you snuck on board. Are you in danger?” Steve questioned, leaping to assess her for any injuries she might have. Other than the irreparable cruelty forced upon her by Rumlow, he saw no physical ailments, and Helena reached out to him, her heartbeat softly spinning into a daze with her psyhima standing before her and no Rumlow breathing over her shoulder.

“I was. It was only a matter of time before I was married against my will to Rumlow and forced to bear his heirs. He kidnapped me from my home with the threat of razing Eprana to the ground. I made an oath that I would willingly travel with him to Hydra in exchange for no threat against Eprana for as long as he shall live and even in death. There was no agreement to a marriage in that oath, and therefore, he cannot break his end without swift punishment from the Pantheon.” Helena detailed the worst of the rumors heard by all when the news of her capture reached Manhattan’s shores from her distraught father. Steve nodded along, letting Helena know that he was listening to her and that she was being heard. “This morning, I overheard Rumlow plotting with his mistress to spoil the peace talks and prolong the war he believes he can win. I knew my window of opportunity to escape was diminishing, and I decided that I might stowaway on your ship to get me far away from that forsaken place. I was told that you were my liberation.”

“Well, Princess, I cannot deny you a place of sanctuary. We plan to make landfall in Manhattan, and from there, we can charter you a ship to return you home to Eprana. Are you content with our course of travel?” Steve inquired, and Helena’s affirming nod relieved him; he found himself quite concerned about what she required of him. He turned back to the words of Divella, a goddess of Helena’s home. His and Helena’s fates were intertwined together, which meant neither he nor Helena was leaving soon from each other. He was determined to get to the bottom of their connection and what that meant for them. “I will work out sleeping accommodations for you. You can take my bed, and I will see if there are any new quarters with the crew below deck.”

“General, that would hardly be necessary. I would feel awful for displacing you over something as meaningless as comfort.” Helena cooed, pressing her hands up against his chest and tilting her head to the side. She fluttered her lashes, and Steve felt his chest clench under the influence of her feminine wiles.

“I would be a foolhardy bastard to let a woman of your status sleep in close quarters with the crew of this vessel,” Steve replied, his hands gravitating toward her waist and delivering a stern look to the princess. Outside of his friends, the crew was made up of rowdy soldiers who he would never trust around a beautiful woman, let alone a woman of high status and divine beauty like the Princess. 

“Neither of us wants to budge on this matter. However, your bed appears spacious enough for the two of us to share,” Helena suggested, and the implication was not lost on Steve, who turned blustery red in the face and gaped at her. He refused to treat her like she was some common brothel wench he could pay for at a tavern. His silence and undeniable red flush caused Helena’s cheeks to darken into the same shade of blazing red. Neither said anything for a moment before Steve stammered something incoherent about preserving Helena’s virtue and honor. His protests quelled when Helena moved her hands up to delicately cradle his face between her soft, untainted touch. The breath stalled between the two of them, and Helena managed a kindly smile, “Is there any way I can convince you that my honor will remain intact should we share the bed?”

“Steve, there is an emergency-” The door to his quarters wildly flew open to reveal Bucky, Sam, and Natasha with panicked expressions standing outside the chambers. That changed when they spotted Steve with his hands wrapped around Princess Helena, her hands on their friend, and less space between their faces than usual for strangers. Oh, what a sight to see; Natasha, Bucky, and Sam witnessing their strait-laced, honorable friend scandalously wrapped up in the embrace of Princess Helena, the conquest bride of the man Steve despised with the passion of a thousand scorching suns. Steve and Helena’s heads simultaneously snapped toward the door and took in the sight of their new guests.

“I found a stowaway?” Steve remarked, meekly offering an explanation to his companions as to why the Princess Helena of Eprana was in his quarters that exonerated him from suspicion of stealing the princess from Rumlow, out of spite or revenge. Now, was he above such moves? He could never truly know, but he did know that his and Helena’s connection warranted exploration as to what her Gods knew about their destinies.

“I did sneak onto your ship,” Helena confirmed to save General Rogers from the incredulous, nearly disappointed looks from his companions. She did not wish for them to blame General Rogers for her decision to sneak her way onto the Howling Commando. Any danger that should befall them laid squarely with her.

“We shall address this later,” Natasha sighed exasperatedly, and she turned over her shoulder as shouting erupted from the crew. She scowled, “There are Hydrian boats following us and gaining rapidly. It appears Bucky’s observation of the dock activity proved correct, and the Hydrians were preparing to attack from the moment negotiations started this morning.” Steve glanced at Helena, knowing that those on board the Hydrian ships could not possibly know that Princess Helena was stowed away with them, and the action fit with what she overheard from Rumlow.

“This requires all hands on deck!” Steve declared and stormed out onto the deck with his companions and Helena, not willing to cower behind when this happened, raced after them. She bound up the stairs and ran to the Howling Commando’s stern, joining the others to see three, fully manned warships tailing them. Helena knew very little about those destroyer ships, but she had the sinking suspicion that the Howling Commando was outgunned.

“Steve, what do you want to do? We can try to outrun them-” Bucky suggested to Steve, stoic and quietly analyzing all possible options. Watching him work with a dominating presence and complete respect from his crew, Helena felt her heart soar into the air, but the threat of it falling never remained far behind. The Hydrian fleet gained momentum with every moment passed, and she knew that she could stop them. She chewed on her lip and knew that she promised her father that she would never use her gift unless she needed it. This would constitute as a time of great enough peril that she could afford to break her promise.

“I can help,” Helena interjected, grabbing her amulet in hand, and she turned to General Rogers with a determined gleam in her eyes. “May I prove my worthiness, General?” Her seriousness took those nearby aback, and all eyes settled on Steve for his decision. Ultimately, he made the final call.

“I would not refuse you, Princess,” Steve decided, earning him some raised brows and distrust in the ability of one woman might accomplish to handle the three, armed warships speeding their way. Helena cracked her knuckles and curtsied before General Rogers, denoting her respect for his decision.

“You might want to hold onto something,” She warned and approached the edge of the stern, taking the railing into her white-knuckled hands. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer Gatious, the God of the Sea, in her native tongue. Steve could not take his eyes off Helena and missed the way the wind started picking up and pushed the Howling Commando further ahead of the Hydrian fleet. Helena chanted while holding her arms above her head, her words devolving into tongues and eyes melting away to reveal emotionless gold. The amulet resting around her neck levitated upward and encased her body in warmth.

The distant rumble of thunder caught the crew and the Manhattan envoy off-guard, eliciting several nervous looks while Helena kept chanting away. The sky darkened to a gloomy grey and the clouds ahead morphed into dark shadows barreling toward the Howling Commando.

“STORM INCOMING!” One of the crewmembers frantically exclaimed, and that stirred the crew into a frenzy, whipping them into their positions for a sudden storm. However, the Manhattan envoy realized that the clouds and sky darkening were not some freak storm, nor was it a coincidence.

“HOLD YOUR PLACES!” Sam bellowed over the noise, using his command voice to stall the preparations of the Howling Commando’s crew for the impending storm. The Manhattan envoy and the crew watched in silence as the foreboding clouds harmlessly rolled around the ship and frighteningly converged on the Hydrian fleet giving chase to the Howling Commando. An inhuman growl escaped the princess from where she stood on the stern, and she held the vengeful power of the Pantheon in her hands to exact how she saw fitting. 

As Helena swung her arms down to her sides and clenched her fists, all chaos broke loose. A bolt of lightning arced down from the heavens and struck the lead ship, setting the wooden hull ablaze and drowning the screams of the startled crew up in smoke. The second ship, cruising beside it at a far enough distance away, felt the water rock and churn uncontrollably with a tidal wave bursting out of nowhere. The wave slammed into the body of the ship with enough force to capsize the vessel and drown whatever sailors were on it. The third and final ship on the opposite side of the other two but lagging somewhat behind, chorused with screams as the rain came tumbling down on them and from the depths of the murky, tumultuous waters rose a green tentacle that smashed through the deck. The force cleaved the ship in halves, the tentacle rained hell down upon the smithereens of the boats, and the horrified crew of the Howling Commando witnessed the horrors of the sea unfold on their enemy, called on by Princess Helena.

Helena’s eyes flashed back to blue, and the winds slowed down to their normal state. The clouds rolled back when Helena came to her senses, stumbling from the blackout. She did not know what happened, only that Gatious promised that he shall take care of those pesky Hydrians endangering her life. She swayed dangerously and collapsed backward, feeling herself safely land into General Rogers’ waiting arms.

“Hgnnn- what happened?” She inquired; her voice raspy from all the chanting. The crew gawked at the princess upon hearing that question leaving her lips and were unsure whether or not she knew the answer to that already.

“There is nothing to worry yourself with, Princess. How are you feeling?” Steve inquired and glared at those bearing witness to avow themselves to silence on the matter. This was his ship, lest they forget who made the rules. 

“Exhausted,” Helena’s eyes fluttered closed while basking in the renewing strength of the sunlight, seeing the storm cloud evaporated into nothing. Without taxing the princess further, Steve adjusted her in his arms and quietly moved through the crew ogling her. His glare told them that showtime was over and that they better start minding their business; otherwise, he might unload the compounded stress of the trip on them. That seemingly encouraged the crew to move from the General’s way and disperse to their posts while Steve escorted Helena back to his quarters. They might have to resume their discussion about the sleeping arrangements after a temporary postponement. He approached his bed, made for a king, and laid Helena on the bed gently as not to stir her or jostle her from her required slumber. He draped a blanket over her to encompass her body in warmth. He backed away from the sleeping princess and ambled toward the door when she called out to him, “Please stay. Can you stay, if only for a short while? ”

Steve stopped in the doorway and turned to see her, lying back with her eyes still closed. She used that soft, alluring voice that he could only describe as what moonlight sounded like. He knew that the others awaited him for a discussion about the turn of events that turned Helena from captured princess to willing stowaway, which they would need to explain to King Anthony when they reached landfall. So, against his better judgment, Steve approached the bed, rid himself of his boots, and crawled across the bed. Helena made a reach out toward him, and he pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her. He had no clue what about Helena made him inclined to do whatever she requested of him with no hesitation, but he could not deny it was happening. With minimal effort, the princess had him—an acclaimed general who led armies through hellish warzones and who stood up to false kings with not a shred of fear—wrapped around her finger.

“Sleep, Princess,” Steve whispered, and he found some comfort in playing with her hair, feeling her body gradually relax as Helena, newly liberated from Hydra, fell asleep in the arms of her psyhima… even if he did not know it yet.


	5. The Missing Princess

_Triskelion, Year 8 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

_Ah, it was good to be the prince._

Rumlow had never been so satisfied, but he successfully sabotaged the peace negotiations and rid himself of that pesky General Rogers. As his victory came swift and exacting like the cut of a blade against a treasonous head, he considered the occasion worthy of celebration. Spending hours in the company of his mistress, drinking fine wine straight from the bottle like the most unruly of heathens, and engaging in the sultriest of his proclivities, Rumlow believed this to represent his eligibility for kingship when the time should come for him to succeed his father or inherit the throne of the kingdoms they were prepared to conquer. If it were up to him, he heard that Asgardian women were of the best around, and they made excellent ale, meaning he would never run out of plenty to indulge his most gluttonous of desires.

“Mmm, my king, your wine,” Sharon sauntered back to the bed with a chalice of wine in her hand, admiring the view of Rumlow’s torso left exposed by the blanket hanging low on his hips. He smirked at her roaming eyes and gestured for her to join him again. She seated herself at the edge of the bed and allowed him to take the wine, pouring some into her open mouth before drinking for him. The two of them spent a copious measure of time hidden away from responsibilities and other people during their schemed rendezvous. However, they could not hide forever, evidenced by the insistent, nearly frantic knocking on the door.

“Prince Rumlow, Your Highness, are you in there?” The quavering voice of a woman came from the opposing side of the door, which Rumlow assumed was a maid or another member of palace staff as he considered them the only ones foolish enough to interrupt him while he was busy. He rolled his eyes and felt his jaw clench, watching not to drop the wine procured for him.

“Enter,” Rumlow growled at the interruption and relied on the coverage of the sheet while Sharon urgently pulled the colorful silk robe befitting of a courtesan. She did not stray far from the side of the bed, not willing to be unseen by palace staff. They knew of her position within this castle, and she relied on special privileges afforded to her. The door opened and revealed that, in fact, a maid did stand outside his chamber. The maid kept her eyes focused on the ground as not to incur the rage of the prince or offend his mistress, who many of the maids feared provoking for her temper. Rumlow stared at the maid and grew impatient that she did not make haste with whatever she bothered him for. “Well, get on with it- why are you here?”

“Your Highness, I came to inquire as to if you sent Princess Helena elsewhere today. She is not in her chambers, and no one seems to know where she is. No one can find her; she is gone!” The maid’s words sent a chill down Rumlow, which unrepentant rage followed closely behind. Missing? How did a heavily guarded princess go missing?

“Alert my father, at once!” Rumlow barked to the frightened maid, who all too happily sprinted away to his bidding, and the door closed behind her, leaving Sharon and Rumlow in the aftermath of the revelation. Without speaking a word, Rumlow kicked off the sheets and left the bed. He passed his wine off to Sharon and ignored her spluttering protests while he hastily retrieved his armor. All thought of letting the soldiers search through the castle for Helena alone, seeing as they were the idiots who could not find her in the first place, infuriated him enough to mandate his presence on the search. Sharon watched the sight of him dressing and the realization that he was leaving for _the other_ striking her, spurring the presence of disgust and the green-eyed monster lurking deep within her heart.

“You are going to search for her? Is that not a job for the soldiers and not one meant for a prince? Besides, what use to you does a rebellious, unwilling bride have? Why select a girl who clearly despises the people she might one day have praising her name when you could marry a loyal Hydrian woman-?” Sharon interrogated Rumlow, unable to keep herself from starting a fight over the upstart known as Princess Helena Nepheros of Eprana. That spoiled brat existed as the one threat that laid between her and Rumlow uniting as more than a man and his mistress. She idolized the crown and knew that a cunning leader like Rumlow needed a wife who complimented that trait within him, not some fragile and borderline mute princess from how little she spoke, even when spoken to. Halting his progress of dressing mid-way through, Rumlow turned around to see Sharon glaring at him, and he stepped forward. He gripped the underside of her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.

“I can see the jealousy in your eyes,” Rumlow cruelly pointed out, swiftly picking apart her greatest insecurity and tearing down what little pride she held up for being the spare. She was the one occupying his bed, not the only one. However, Hydra deserved an heir of royal blood, and that blood would be of him, the greatest warrior in all the Seven Kingdoms by the end of the war, and Princess Helena, for her beauty. There was nothing personal, and Sharon should understand that she was a placeholder, meant only for his entertainment.

“Just don’t.” Sharon scoffed and pushed him away, turning her head to hide the hurt. She departed from his chambers with wine still in hand, fleeing to her most secret place where she could safely be with her thoughts and pain. Rumlow watched her go with no remorse or any semblance of care for her feelings, just blankness. He resumed his re-clothing and assembled his armor together before exiting his room, finding that a flurry of soldiers awaiting him or his orders.

“Search this castle from the cellars to the library to the gardens. No stone shall be left unturned, no room overlooked! I want the princess found, or else there will be consequences for everyone who failed to keep her in their sight. I shall explore the princess’ chambers,” Rumlow demanded sternly, and his directive was instantly picked up by his men, which he noted under aquiline, watchful eyes. He waited for the forces to disperse to their tasks before he sped away to the tower. He ascended the stairs with each step creaking underneath his stomps, and he hoped that for Helena’s sake, that she made herself found before he grew upset with her rebellious behavior.

Rumlow shoved the door to her chambers open, barely holding back the growl inching its way from his throat. His eyes surveyed the room and found the sheets of the bed askew, but most other items were left in place. The room appeared in practically pristine condition, which heightened Rumlow’s suspicion as he overheard rumors of the princess’ oddities—one of which included her propensity to tidy after herself in the chambers. He spent so much time glancing around that he nearly missed the piece of paper neatly folded on the bed. When he spotted the paper, he surged forward and seized it with fervor. His first instinct was to assume a ransom note, but he was not fully prepared for what was on that page.

_Prince Rumlow,_

_If you find this message, it will have meant that I am gone. I must ask, how does it feel to be duped by a princess you considered below you in intellect? You and your wretched father genuinely believed that I planned to let this sham of a marriage commence without some fight? You kidnapped me, stole me away from my home like a prize to be won, and boasted about. My name was enough to warrant you to violate my right to freedom. But my gods called to me through my darkest despair and promised me that I, one day, would be free once more. I am not some pretty bird meant to be caged away and showed off. I am a person, a queen, to be. I have no time to play pretend or submit to your rules. I swore the oath that I might accompany you back to Hydra without resistance, but I never promised to stay. That is where you failed to see ahead and underestimating the enemy you never knew you had, became your downfall, facilitated by your hubris. I know not when this letter shall find you, whether you have succeeded in breaking my spirit like you promised or whether I succeeded in standing firm in my faith. Regardless, I hope that you understand the fool you are with this defeat in a game you did not realize you were playing. I will never be yours. I will die before you make me submit under your thumb ever again._

_Helena_

Rumlow was shaking; the letter clutched in his hand, crumpled into a wad out of sheer rage. He, driven by his anger, started ripping the letter into shreds and let them fall into tatters onto the floor. His chest heaved raggedly. Did Helena believe she could make a mockery of him and escape without any consequences befalling her? No force on the mortal plane or of divine nature would stop him from exacting his punishment for Helena’s rebellion. She better pray that he did not find her first.

Thundering down the tower stairs and back into the central atrium, Rumlow crossed his arms and waited for updates from those searching for Helena. When all the guards came back at a loss and with no Helena to be found, he snarled about their incompetence and shoved through the crowd of watching soldiers. He moved through the palace until he reached the throne room, assuming his father was still in there and conducting a meeting with his advisors or something. Two guards flanked the double doors marking the entry into the throne room and spotted Rumlow heading their way, struggling to keep their bearing from descending into a flash of fear across their faces. The guards made no move to halt his efforts when Rumlow practically kicked the door in and interrupted his father, for they knew their warnings would go unheeded or even punished.

“The Princess is missing,” Rumlow declared to his father, whose face hardened, and Pierce outright dismissed the emissaries updating him about the front on Wakanda’s civil war under a wave of his hand. The emissaries scrambled and scurried out of the room, not wishing to dwell where they were not wanted. Pierce sighed when Rumlow approached his throne with the wrath of a man, betrayed, boiling his blood and marking his shriveled heart in black. He curtailed the rant threatening to spill forth from his lips with the freeness of wine into a chalice, reminding him of his sullied celebration reluctantly cut short by the defiance of his bride-to-be. Rumlow continued, “The guards and I looked for her with no success. I discovered a handwritten letter in her room, written directly to me. She taunted me, Father. She spat in my mouth like the crudest of bastards and ran off into the night like a lowlife thief, having stolen my dignity.”

“Have guards turn the palace upside down before moving onto the town. Anyone caught harboring her with them from us shall be put to death.” Pierce instructed his son, who he gave command over their forces. Pierce found war a rather bloody affair, much better suited for his warrior of a son than he. He handled the politics while Rumlow made his worth by commanding the armies, the conquering enterprise of the royal father and royal son. Upon his father’s request, Rumlow nodded with some pleasure that his demands were once again met and left unquestioned by his father. 

Their discussion received another interruption when the doors flew open and a soldier, bearing the crest of the Hydrian navy, sprinted into the room with a haunted look in his eye. He appeared out of breath like he ran through the city as he did.

“Your Majesty,” The harried soldier knelt swiftly when reaching the dictated number of paces from the throne to address the king. Pierce, ever the one to maintain the status quo of respect for him, allowed the soldier to engage with protocol without rushing him or stressing urgency. The soldier rose from his kneel and, with shaking hands, planned to deliver a report expected to stir displeasure in the King. None of the palace staff or guards wished to ever displease the king, yet there was no choice in how to relay the unfortunate circumstances. “My liege, we have received warning that our ships following the Manhattan vessel have all been destroyed. Witnesses spotted an unspeakable display of a storm that seemingly arrived from nowhere, and many horrors of the sea emerged like divine wrath from an angry god.” The news acted as another swift blow against Hydra—amounting to a runaway prisoner and their enemies escaping their intended burials at sea. Rumlow felt strongly inclined to punch at the wall while his father maintained his composure, like the expert politician he was. Pierce believed that showing the common man the inner workings of a ruler’s mind signaled the beginning of their downfall among the people.

“Leave us. My son and I have much to discuss,” Pierce declared, and no resistance came from the soldier as they swiftly departed from the throne room and plunged the empty room into contemplative silence. Although Pierce leaned on the arm of his throne with a rational, calm expression, the truth laid in his eyes where unimaginable irritation stemmed from the thought of Princess Helena. When his son came home with the princess in shackles, he allowed it to occur. He, despite his reservations about bringing a royal captive as a bride, did not desire to deny his son a rightfully won conquest. Truthfully, he was surprised that his son managed to take the princess from her father as Alexander Nepheros’ devotion to his Helena was known quite well to the other leaders of the Seven Kingdoms. That was pointless now; Helena somehow deceived them and the entire castle, meaning the hunt for her was on. “Where do you think she would hide?”

“I am unsure. The guards were instructed to keep an eye on her and never allow her to leave the castle. We shall turn this castle upside down and leave no corner left unchecked. Tomorrow we start patrols around the kingdom. Princess Helena cannot have gotten far, even with a head start.” Rumlow scoffed, thinking little of the traitorous princess, who defied the oath she made when he stormed the beaches of her precious Eprana. Little did Rumlow realize that Helena had propelled herself as far out of his reach as she possibly could, sending him and his guards on a wild chase leading nowhere for a princess who might vanish into thin air.


	6. On The Open Seas

_The Midgardian Sea, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Her new life on the Howling Commando promised Helena plenty of adventure and excitement but needed some adjusting to. Her day began at daybreak as that happened to be when the crew manned their stations with the flurry of conversations and excitements devoid from the nighttime out of respect for the dignified guests sleeping. However, the sun’s arrival over the horizon signaled that sleep was over and she did not sleep much anyways. So used to sleeping scarcely and fearfully waiting in the dark for a midnight intruder to infiltrate her chambers when her guard came down, sleep became a luxury that the princess could no longer afford while a prisoner of Hydra.

Besides, she found that she enjoyed sneaking out onto the deck to experience the sunrise, the early morning breeze, and the strong aroma of salty sea mist spraying at her with every crash of the Howling Commando against the waves. Unlike her previous voyage with Rumlow and his men, she received unwavering respect and minimal staring. That greatly improved her mood, which further encouraged her to leave her new chambers and embrace the seafaring experience. Some entire mornings she would devote to watching the crew swing about the deck from the upper platform toward the stern or she would stand on the bow to feel the wind and sea spray against her face. She felt so genuinely alive; the freedom acted as a rebirth on her soul.

Occasionally, Helena might come out of her room when she struggled to sleep during the evening and might find General Rogers, asleep at his desk with his head of messy blond hair strewn about the important papers he was supposed to work on. He did not relent on his insistence to protect the princess’ virtue and managed to scrape together a bunking arrangement among the crew, which did not infringe on Lady Natasha’s sleeping quarters in respect of her privacy. Much to Helena’s disappointment, General Rogers was a difficult man to convince or sway to do anything he might deem “improper” with her. When those times happened, Helena would quietly move across the cabin and gently rouse the General from his state of slumber. She found it amusing to watch the bashful blinking of eyes or the almost innocent yawning that occurred. She consistently offered him the option to come to bed with her and, on principle, he refused every time. That would never stop her from offering the option to her psyhima, who she suspected did not understand what he meant to her. She would watch him neatly clear his papers, sometimes accepting her helping hands, and sleepily stumble to below deck with Helena intently watching him the whole way.

Around three weeks into their journey back to Manhattan, Helena engaged in her morning ritual of watching the sunrise paint the colors of dawn across the sky in brilliant fashion. She planted herself onto the bow of the boat and leaned up against the railing, soaking in the crisp morning air tangling with the sea salt aroma. From behind her, she heard the creak of the wooden planks encompassing the deck and she expected someone standing behind her.

“This is my favorite time of day.” Helena remarked to whomever walked onto the deck behind her, not startled or on the defensive. She knew she was safe here. “Is it not the most beautiful sight one could witness with their sight?” She glanced over her shoulder to see, much to her simultaneous astonishment and delight, General Rogers behind her. She quickly raked her eyes over his loose-fitting trousers, equally loose, partially unfastened shirt, and moussed bedhead rippling in the morning breeze. Her move was punctuated by the hot blush tinting her cheeks an unmistakable red; he was disarmingly handsome in this state of disheveled vulnerability as he was when put together in ceremonial armor.

“I can see why, Princess. The skies are of beauty beyond words during this hour,” Steve agreed with the princess, glancing to his side where she stood when he stepped forward. Helena, who was staring ahead yet was listening to every word he had said. She gave a small nod, agreeing with General Rogers on that matter. So many metaphors she could espouse over the beauty of the skies during daybreak, but incomparability suited this particular display of pinks and yellows blending seamlessly into the first inklings of blue. “Did you spend many mornings while in Hydra looking out to the sea, searching for a sign hidden among the waves or wishing for the sight of an escape? Staying a prisoner between those walls ought to have constituted as a miserable experience, one you should never need to face again.”

“Yes. All my mornings began before the sun had fully risen into the sky, which marked the time before even the servants rose from their slumbers to man their respective posts. The air of those hours was marked by peace, the kind I used when I wished to forget for a little while.” Helena revealed and she pushed back her messy hair when the winds brushed it against her face, much to her annoyance.

“Forget what, if I may ask?” Steve inquired before he could stop himself from pushing too far and his blood threatened to boil over if he found out that Rumlow dared to lay a finger on her. To him, there was no viable excuse for a man to lay a hand on a woman and no punishment befitting enough for the pieces of scum that dared to commit such violence. Helena, however, shook her head and there would be no answers coming from her.

“There are an endless number of things I wish to forget.” Helena remarked quietly, as her body instinctually shrank in size when the sounds of angered yelling, the shattering of something fragile, and the promise of death coincided in a swirling, haphazard recollection of that place. She regretted the way fear and pain tainted her voice, making impartiality an impossibility. The distantness of her voice caused Steve to reach his hand out but retracted himself short of the curve of her shoulder. He felt a hesitancy on touching her so openly, why he gravitated to soothing her through touch where others never elicited a response remotely similar, and not wishing to overstep his bounds even when she invited him in.

“Let me ask you, Princess Helena, do you believe that we have the freedom to choose our destiny?” Steve inquired, considering a different approach in breaching the defenses of the princess. She came across in the most confusing way to him. She earnestly implored him to stay, to share a bed with her while lapsing into self-imposed isolation in her quarters. She seemed relatively uninterested or afraid of the others abord and trusted only him, which made no sense. For Helena, she could not deny the prickle of hope in her chest upon his question, pondering what he meant by it. She learned, early on in her courtly training, that questions often carried unconscious, unspoken inquires attached to them. _Did he know about their bond? Was General Rogers aware he spoke to his psyhima, the woman who would stand by his side until temporarily separated by death?_

“Yes, and no,” Helena remarked, chewing on her lower lip anxiously. She had never conducted a philosophical discussion about the intricacies of Fate’s influence against the strength of free will at such an early hour of the morning. Still, there was nothing prohibiting her from indulging such intriguing circumstances with her psyhima. Her eyes remained unwavering from the view ahead and Steve studied her profile basking in the light of daybreak. “See, everyone has a choice. Mortals are fickle creatures with stubborn temperaments and yet the creativity and cunning to match. However, Fate holds all the cards and decides where a person’s life goes, whether they resist or cooperate with circumstances. The Gods are not fully in control of what humans or they do. All things lie with Fate and cursed be the fool who rebels against her unyielding control. Why do you ask, General?”

“No particular reason.” Steve nonchalantly remarked, running his fingers through his unkempt hair tossed askew by sleep. He leaned forward on the railing and soaked in the sea mist peppering his face, feeling the memories of home reach him. Anytime he smelled the fresh ocean breeze, his mind flashed back to his early days in the Manhattan army when he got stuck on wall duty. Troops would alternate in three hour shifts to stand guard along the ramparts of and along the entrances of the wall surrounding the capital. He glanced over at Helena, “It is just that I-”

“You are aware that we have a connection?” Helena blurted out, unable to hold her tongue when she realized where the discussion headed. Now, she was more convinced that General Rogers understood more about their divine bond than he was letting on.

“I am. But less aware as to the nature or extent of our connection. Do you know?” Steve explained, which conflicted Helena further.

“I-” Helena debated whether she should speak without consent from the Pantheon on the workings of Fate, not seeing it as her place to tell General Rogers outside the expressed guidance of those who knew what lay ahead. As convenient and beneficial to her as revealing the truth might be, she knew that all things came in due time. To rush the course of destiny only resulted in outcomes of tragic proportions and she, experiencing her fair share of traumatic moments for the last few months while prisoner, wished not to invite more tragedy her way. During her hesitance, a yell from overhead interjected through the conversation and it presented itself as meant for Steve. 

“General, we await your orders for the day, o’ noble sir!” The mention of his name elicited a sigh from Steve, who knew that the work never stopped for him. If they planned on making landfall safely at Manhattan in two weeks’ time, at latest, then he would need to keep the crew on task. He wondered where Tony even found these men and commandeered them to transport important emissaries of Manhattan. Setting beside his disbelief, Steve seemed reluctant to ditch Helena and their conversation when he stumbled so close to enlightenment as to their professed bond. Sensing his confliction, Helena gently rested her hand on his shoulder and the move somehow evoked comfort. The sensation of warmth stirred in his chest and when the General and the Princess’ eyes met, the intensity strengthened within him and her.

“Go. You are needed. I will still be here,” Helena kindly promised him, which allowed Steve to realized how much her silvery voice sweetened her words much in the way honey sweetens wine. Her voice, it twinkled like the sea of stars when the nightfall came and swept away the day under a cloak of black and besotted by sparkling cosmos of the brightest silver. He, slightly enthralled by the princess, gave a modified bow and hurried off to the higher deck to dispense orders to the crew. Helena’s eyes followed him across the deck, but she did spot Natasha emerging from below deck and lithely approaching her. 

“Your highness, I have a new gown for you,” Natasha informed with the gown in question slung over her shoulder. As Helena snuck onto the Howling Commando with little on her persons, her supply of dresses was limited. Kindly offering some assistance, Natasha packed plenty of leftover dresses for the voyage to and from Hydra and would gift some to Helena since she preferred trousers to dresses. Helena graciously accepted the dresses for her use as she and Natasha were similar in measurements with Helena slightly smaller but noticeably taller. So, the dresses would reach around her knees instead of hitting the floor and sway in the inevitable winds while out on the open seas.

“Lady Natasha, please call me Helena. Princess is not necessary here,” Helena whispered to her as she approached, meaning it for her and mainly her ears alone. She and Natasha were the only women abord the ship for the moment and she wished to form a friendly bond, beyond the basic introductory pleasantries over the last few weeks.

“As you wish, Lady Helena. Come,” Natasha waved her hand for Helena to follow and the two women left the visibility of the deck for Helena’s chambers in the main quarters. Under the overhead lanterns, the warm teak colored floors and rich cinnamon shade walls nearly glowed with a sort of inviting summons for the women. They reached the bedroom, where Natasha fluffed out the dress for Helena to take in fully. The [dress](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/47/da/a8/47daa81bce1b856f285174095c21818b.jpg) was stunning; a gown in two-toned shades of pure white and alabaster with exaggerated sleeves and embroidered flowers sprawling around the collar. The style felt unlike what Helena wore on her home island, but lovely in a different way. The back required some additional hands given the lace-up corset bodice.

“This was never properly tailored for the length, which means it might fit you perfectly.” Natasha remarked and she turned to give Helena respectful privacy to change out of her sleeping attire. Helena, although accustomed to maids watching her undress, appreciated the gesture and shimmied free from her nightgown. Once in a puddle on the floor, she stepped out of the fabric and reached for the dress in Natasha’s arms. She pulled herself into the gown and admired the perfect fit in the mirror; it fit better than a glove!

“This is elegant!” Helena gasped, picking up the skirt in her hands and swinging her body side to side to watch the hem of the skirt flutter around. Natasha gave a small laugh and worked on the laces of the corset with slender, skilled fingers. As she tucked them into the eyelets and gradually tightened the gown’s waistline, Helena placed her hands flat on her stomach and sucked in a shaking breath “We have not spoken much, Lady Natasha. I understand that I must seem reclusive or haughty to you and the others aboard. If I do come across like that, I do sincerely apologize. That will never be my intention. I am readjusting to regular society.” Her awkward fidgeting cemented the sheepish look of shame dusting her face, casting her full lips into a crestfallen frown. It had felt like an eternity since she interacted with anyone that was there of their own free will or genuinely held kindness and concern for her wellbeing.

“Do not fret, Helena. Those of us who experienced the special design of cruelty belonging to King Alexander Pierce and his bastardly adopted son Prince Rumlow sympathize for what horrors you likely witnessed while in the castle. It was no secret that Rumlow saw you as an object, a prop to hold up with pride for his conquering of the long-standing neutral Eprana that violated the accords of peace. He should choke on his own arrogant spit for a fitting demise,” Natasha grumbled, and her distracted tangent caused her to mess up a loop, which she adjusted. Helena swallowed back a bitterly ironic laugh directed at the idea of Rumlow meeting his end in such an embarrassingly mundane manner when he considered himself of inhuman glory and worship from the lesser men his father ruled over.

“I wish to no longer speak of him. Such attention given to him brings him power over us, which I refuse to allow.” Helena declared and Natasha found herself agreeing with Helena, not for the superstitious reasons that Helena did. _Names had power._ “However, there is someone I wish to discuss. You, General Rogers, and your companions unwittingly came to my aid and unexpected rescue by arriving in Hydra. I would like to get to know you all better as a thank you for becoming the heroes I needed.”

“I suppose I can share a few secrets. Spymaster by trade, occasional gossip by choice,” Natasha’s bright green eyes met Helena’s through the mirror and Helena could see a world of intrigue within them. She comprehended the danger the woman standing beside her possessed and identified her as someone she accepted as an ally, not an enemy. Helena maintained her composure, not knowing what else to do when someone declared themselves as a spymaster, and therefore, a trained killer who commanded the equivalent of an army with their networks. Through her limited knowledge of political affairs within the Seven Kingdoms, she pieced together that she stood before the Black Widow, the most dangerous agent of Manhattan. She nodded, speaking volumes. _I know who you are._ Natasha proceeded on like nothing transpired between the two of them, “I think I can easily say that Sam, Bucky, and I should have seen this coming. We were secretly convinced that Steve planned to smuggle you from the Triskelion by himself and persuade you to run away with us. He never admitted to such thoughts, but one could see it in the way he looked at you-”

“How would you describe that? The way he looked at me?” Helena cocked her head to the side, taking a quick inhale as Natasha reached the halfway point through the corset and breathing would be a more difficult task from then on.

“He looked at you like you were touched by a falling star, sparkling and something so beautiful yet forbidden to him. He saw your pain and wished to bring you ease through whatever way he could. During dinner, you held his undivided attention. With a flick of your wrist or a purse of your lips, you possible could have brought him to his knees. You, while at Rumlow’s side, appeared trapped and his first instinct came to protect. He has always been the protector type, noble and brave, but he never was so easily swayed by a beautiful face than before he encountered you, Helena. You lit a fire in his bones from the way he passionately argued with us to conspire and free you.” Natasha explained while she finished lacing the final eyelets with the corset strings. Hearing the description through outsider eyes caused Helena’s face to turn pink all over from the tips of her ears, across the apples of her high cheeks, and down her neck. She had no idea that, from the beginning, he experienced similar thoughts to her although that rationally made sense. She felt giddy, intoxicated on the momentary burst of butterflies through her bosom.

“He is a good man, yes?” Helena inquired, feeling a little dumb for posing such a question. He ought to be from the way that Natasha spoke about him with reverence and the small praises she heard from her father about those in Manhattan’s leadership. Besides, anyone who enraged Rumlow and opposed his every move should be someone of upstanding moral character, given who Rumlow was.

“One of the best I know. He has fought so bravely for Manhattan throughout the years and he, in my eyes, would be the closest semblance of family. He is my brother, in service and by choice. But you cannot tell him I said that; he would never let me hear the end of it.” Natasha remarked, shaking her head at the thought of playful teasing thrown her way if Steve ever heard that she considered him like a brother. She might never hear the end of it.

“Your secret is safe in my hands, locked away by my avowed bond of silence.” Helena promised and her lips curved into a delicate, elegant smile befitting of a woman of her station. She listened to the praise heaped onto General Rogers by Natasha and felt drawn in. She knew that all things came in due time, yet her impatience grated on her, filled her soul with restless desire surrounding the enigmatic shadow standing between her and General Rogers. Helena sighed, “I wish to know him. The Pantheon, my gods whom I unreservedly trust with my life, told me that he and I are connected by something far greater than mortal wills, avarice, or the intrinsic suffering of flawed humanity.” 

“Somehow, I believe it. I expect no less from Steve and you, the princess with a face that could launch a thousand ships as many choose to eulogize you.” Natasha whispered while dragging a comb through Helena’s hair and stepping back, giving the princess space to admire herself in the mirror. Helena turned around and exchanged a smile with her, a new understanding passing between the two. Their journeys and experiences in the games of men were not unfamiliar, even with so much being left unspoken.

“Thank you, Natasha, for your invaluable assistance.” Helena dipped into a curtsy, which earned her one in return.

“Anytime, Helena.”


	7. Safe Harbor, New Life

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The day of arrival finally came to an excited crew, relieved General Rogers, and an absolutely nervous Helena. She hardly knew what to expect, but she anticipated that the masses would crowd the streets to welcome their national heroes home, hoping to see them safe from their adventure across the seas and into the arms of danger. No doubt that the people of Manhattan considered the Hydrians enemies to some degree, fostering a reciprocation of distrust between both peoples. Those of Hydra once belonged to Manhattan but defected, marking them from their fellow countrymen as traitors, led by a poisonous usurper.

Helena stood on the deck, albeit off to the side while the crew prepared to pull into the port growing ever closer and fidgeted with the plunging neckline of her favorite dress that she stole back from Hydra with her disappearing act. She planned on making the best impression on King Anthony Stark, by whom General Rogers and his companions affectionately referred to as Tony, and she felt consumed whole by the tangible knot of dread sitting in her stomach. This, to her, was more than reaching landfall in safe harbors and feeling protected from the potential Hydrian retaliation should her location ever be disclosed. Her arrival at the Manhattan palace, called “The Tower” by its citizens, signaled her first foray into political affairs on another kingdom’s soil. Her actions today might shape future relations between Manhattanites and Epranians for generations to come, the present and those long after she departs the mortal world.

So, the dress was intended to be a statement—Helena, despite all her trials, was the beacon of what Eprana stood for and would continue to stand for.

She glanced down at the dress, examining her choice under a critical eye. The demur periwinkle chiffon of the [gown](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1fffe4a7a6c2bb7c1fb87665947c4db9/fe151fed447038c7-b4/s540x810/4457103776845e1b84d3d7396af7de2adab83ae0.jpg) fitted her figure while the low neckline and gold accents served to catch the eye. As an addition, the small capped sleeves and extra fabric forming a de-facto cape added more regality to the dress. Emerging from below deck, Sam and Bucky noticed Helena all by her lonesome and went to go stand with her. Her less than exuberant expression was something that needed to be fixed.

“Get ready to wear your best smile, Princess. The crowds are going to adore you!” Sam cheekily remarked, eliciting an involuntary giggle from Helena over his dramatic theatrics. But that was just how Sam was. Since her talk with Natasha, she grew closer to General Rogers and his inner circle considerably. All of them, except for Steve, authorized her to call them by their names sans title, and that simple act established friendliness between her and the Manhattanites.

Truthfully, the additional two weeks brought many changes. Although General Rogers refused to cave about sharing the captain’s quarters with her and often falling asleep at the desk, he joined her every morning. Sometimes, he would wait in the office for her until she came out so the two of them might go together. The gesture was touching, and Helena cherished each morning where she and General Rogers spent the quiet moments together.

At that time, Helena devoted time to decide what her next step was. She only planned as far as to sneak onto the ship and not much else. Having successfully done so, she faced two possible choices: jumping on the first ship bound for Eprana and reunite herself with her father or wait for some time until determined safe to embark back since the war between Hydra and Manhattan. Her heart jolted eagerly at the thought of seeing her poor father’s face after all those months they were ripped apart so cruelly, but traveling the waters in a Manhattan ship was akin to a death sentence. Those on Hydra’s side of the war patrolled the high seas and waged their own conflicts across the Seven Kingdoms with the Wakandan Civil War facing great strife as a result of Hydrian and Sokovian influence with the insurgents. Helena knew that should her vessel be spotted by enemies, she might be killed or worse, returned to Rumlow and the one place she swore to never return. She missed her father dearly, but all her instincts were begging her to stay behind the protection of Manhattan. Ultimately the decision laid in her hands and belonged to either her head or her heart.

“I wish I could say that he was joking, but a hero’s welcome gathers crowds from all over the city. The people will be eager to get a good look at General Rogers, since he is the kingdom’s greatest war hero and beloved by the common people.” Bucky declared dramatically, seeing if he or Sam could get Steve’s attention from where he stood on the bow of the Howling Commando. What he said was the unfiltered truth. Unlike those who inhabited the King’s court, General Rogers grew up among the poorest of common people and reflected what they might aspire to be. 

“How big are we talking?” Helena squeaked out, absentmindedly adjusting the gilded leaves crown she had not worn since she left Eprana. That reassurance from Bucky hardly did her any favors with managing the stress mounting onto her shoulders, worsening it instead. Her face probably revealed that she was petrified by the thought of how the color drained from her face. Bucky and Sam panicked that Helena was panicking, which they caused. They had no desire to explain to Steve why the princess looked violently ill and seconds away from fainting.

“I promise you, Helena, that it is nothing you cannot handle. Eprana is nothing to scoff at with its population, which means you have this under control. Besides, you will be riding with us, and the attention might be evenly divided between those the people expect to see and a welcome but unexpected visitor.” Sam remarked quickly, attempting to rectify the situation he and Bucky inadvertently created. Helena swallowed thickly, still appearing terribly frightened by the prospect of another parade with her showed off through the streets. She knew the people of Manhattan were nothing like those of Hydra, even with the citizens of Hydra woefully misinformed about the truth of their inception and the war. Still, irrationality held considerable sway over her mind.

“I agree with Sam on this one. The people of Manhattan have much to celebrate,” Natasha chimed in, although her vision held steady ahead toward the docks. If Helena did not know any better, she would guess that Natasha was looking for someone. Apparently, having the same idea, Steve left his post to join his ragtag group of longtime friends and the wayward princess who deftly snuck her way into their lives.

“Lady Natasha, you looking for someone? Say a certain assassin masquerading as a palace staff member?” Steve questioned with a rare hint of playful teasing, which he reserved for the closest of friends. Ever since Natasha mentioned the familial relationship she shared with General Rogers, Helena paid closer attention. She started to notice the small ways they interacted like the closest of siblings might.

“Shut up, Steve!” Natasha coolly hissed, confirming that she was doing precisely that. The laughter which ensued earned everyone except Helena a glare packing the promise of a thousand painful deaths by her hand. As the Howling Commando drew closer to the dock, Helena spotted several figures standing on the hill outside of the massive, crystal-colored walls surrounding the kingdom of Manhattan. She was so lost in the splendor of the country along the sea, dubbed “The Golden City” by those far and wide, that she did not spend much time examining those who awaited her at the docks.

The Howling Commando, in under an hour, successfully docked along the port and anchored along the deck built into the water. Up close, the walls and what little Helena could make out of the capital city stole her breath. At the end of the docks, a handsome man with sandy blond hair and a charming grin awaited them, but the brunt of his adoring looks was directed Natasha’s way. He held his hand out to her and pressed a kiss to it and, when she made no protest, he pulled her in closer.

“Welcome back to Manhattan, Lady Romanova.” Clinton Barton, her second in command and best assassin of the spy’s guild, greeted her and the others by extension. He was most happy to see his beloved Natasha returned to him. He and the others were friends, but he and Natasha were partners for life. After ravishing his attention on Natasha, who seemed more or less thrilled to be openly affectionate with her friends looking on, he turned to the others. That is when he noticed Helena, standing beside Steve. He was not aware they were expecting a guest. “Oh! Hello! I apologize for my negligence, but I brought four horses for the procession through the city streets. I did not realize we had an additional rider.” Clint apologized to Helena, although the blaming expression landed squarely on his friends for not giving him ample notice. A day’s announcement would have adequately sufficed.

“No need to concern yourself, Clint. I will share my mount with Princess Helena,” Steve decided quickly during the awkward silence and all eyes turned to him. The core four seemed unabashedly shocked by his forwardness while Helena sported a dazzling smile and rosy cheeks, indicating her pleasure with that outcome. She nodded, showing that she supported the move and Clint agreed, seeing no reason to refuse the request of the General and the princess. If both parties were consenting and in agreement, he saw no issue.

“This is Helios. He will share Steve and the princess.” Clint informed when he guided a pure white stallion from the line of horses lightly grazing through the grassy field standing between the shore and the walls of the capital city. Helios lazily glanced up at Steve and Helena but responded positively when Helena held out her hand toward his muzzle. Helios affectionately snorted and nudged against Helena’s hand, making her break out into a smile. Clint handed Steve the reigns with a grin and the implication for him to figure out the arrangement while he prepped the other horses with their riders. His cover within the palace placed him in the stables, and he worked with the horses. He found the work to be quite relaxing during his non-missions with a fondness for animals. He once jokingly proposed to Natasha that the two of them should run away to the Asgardian countryside and build a cozy farmhouse there; she dismissed the idea as ludicrous with a faint smile on her face.

As the others were outfitted with their hand-picked mounts, Steve and Helena prepared to ride into the city. Steve maneuvered into the saddle first by using one foot in the stirrups and vaulting his other leg over. He occupied the back end of the seat and decided that he would let Helena manage Helios since she possessed equestrian training, and Helios responded positively to her touch. He leaned to the side and held out his hand to the princess when she approached. She stuck one boot in the stirrup, divided her hands between his outstretched hand and the pommel of the saddle, and gracefully hoisted herself up into the saddle with noteworthy strength. She wriggled her other boot into the extra stirrup and adjusted herself on the seat, sitting up tall. Her cheeks flushed when General Rogers’ chest pressed up against her back, and she needed to remind herself not to react knowing she sat between his straddled legs.

_A princess should not think such improper thoughts, even about her psyhima._

Upon Clint’s approval, Helena clicked her tongue, and Helios’ ears flicked back while his head perked up. She expertly gripped the reigns and gave a guiding tug for Helios to trot toward the walls.

“Just follow the road straight down, and the guards at the gate will let us in. They are expecting us,” Steve whispered to her, and his arm wrapped around her body to point in the direction of slightly northeast from where they stood.

“Okay!” Helena nodded, and she nudged Helios forward with a dig of her heel from the stirrup. Helios led the pack up to the gates, where friendly guards gave the command to open the gates and that the heroes arrived back home. The gates opened with all deliberate speed, and the announcement caught the attention of the waiting crowds, who cheered and waved at the sight of their greatest heroes returning.

Lining both sides of the street, an endless number of people from all ages and walks of life made up the faces in the crowd. The sea of people cheering names dominated the voices that Helena heard, but there were many who saw her and complimented her beauty from afar. No one attempted to touch her against her will or made her uncomfortable under glares. She rode with General Rogers, who earned the love of his people in stark contrast to the fear of Rumlow. No greater divide between the two men showed than how the public saw them.

Around midway through the parade, a small group of young children raced up to the edge of the street with a little boy, in simple linens and with dirtied hands, held out a small bunch of wildflowers to Helena. From the eager faces of the children and their matching dirt-covered hands, she assumed that they picked those for her. The sweet, simple gesture touched her heart and brought tears to her eyes. She needed something so innocent and pure after months of hardship.

“Oh, thank you!” Helena leaned down to gracefully accept the beautiful bouquet of wildflowers from the children while still keeping the horse steady. Steve made sure of that by pairing one of his hands around the reigns until Helena sat back upright. She clutched the flowers in one hand with the reigns and wore the biggest smile as she trotted down the cobblestone road of the Golden City.

This was nothing like Hydra.

Dismounting once inside the gleaming gates of the Tower, Steve stepped down from the mount he shared with Helena and offered the princess a hand with her dismount. Helena gently moved her legs over to one side and nodded, accepting the help. Reaching out, Steve gripped at Helena’s waist and picked her up from the saddle. She gripped onto his shoulders tightly while their faces passed for a brief moment before he set her onto the ground.

“Thank you, General Rogers,” Helena politely bowed her head. Her hand lingered on Steve’s shoulder for a fleeting moment. Then, she let go.

“However I may be of service, Princess Helena,” Steve replied, equally respectful and formal. In the presence of royalty, formalities and manners must be minded appropriately by all parties, whether you were a soldier, poor farmer, or other royalty. Therefore, he offered his arm to Helena, which she accepted without speaking, and the two led the trek from the courtyard outside the palace to the royal foyer. Clusters of Manhattan’s elite families and advisors to the king waited on the outskirts of the hall with keen eyes as they witness the return of General Rogers, the mysterious yet regal woman on his arm, and his companions from their time away in Hydra.

Standing at the base of the stairs was none other than the Manhattan Royal Family: The Starks. The King, Anthony Stark, stood proudly beside his wife, Queen Consort Virginia Potts-Stark, and his lovely daughter, Princess Morgana Stark. His face broke out into a rare smile when seeing his friends returning safely and all in one piece. When initially considering the offer for peace negotiations, Tony knew a significant danger lurked at the hands of their enemy. However, he and the others deemed it a risk to refuse the offer for peace talks on the grounds of distrust. The decision, although finalized with agreement by all members of the expedition, left him concerned that something might go awry during execution. Though, he supposed that arriving back to Manhattan with a stranger in tow, dressed regally and radiating authority might fall under unexpected circumstances. Steve, Natasha, Helena, Sam, and Bucky displayed their formal greetings, by curtsy or bow, when reaching the edge of the stairs.

“General Rogers, we are overjoyed to see you and your companions safely returned to us.” King Anthony declared, eliciting polite clapping from the nobles gathered around the room. Although his initial appointment stirred some controversy due to his non-noble status and past Generals were all originating from nobility, General Rogers was adored by the ordinary people, and the nobles came around to him when he demonstrated leadership incomparable to anyone before him. Alongside him, his seconds in command and Lady Natasha were fixtures at court, and Lady Natasha was born and bred nobility. 

“It seems that you have brought a guest to our shores, General Rogers.” Queen Virginia mentioned, addressing the unspoken but clearly noticed the fifth body in the group. There were some nods from the elites, and Steve cleared his throat, knowing that he was about to drop a bombshell of seismic proportions on the unsuspecting court.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Steve rose from his bow and Helena mimicked his movements, realizing that she was to be introduced to the court, “This is Her Royal Highness Helena Nepheros, Crown Princess of Eprana.” Upon his introduction on Helena’s behalf, the room filled with gasps to see the lost princess in the flesh. The rumors of her hardly compared to her beauty in the flesh or the solemn gaze settled upon her face. There she stood, a survivor of Hydra’s senseless war and visibly unbroken by her captivity under Rumlow’s lock and key. Helena kept herself from softening underneath the whispers or shrinking away from the attention; she plastered on a brave face before the Starks.

“Your Majesties, I humbly thank you for your sanctuary within your walls and thank you for the generosity of your servants in General Rogers, Commander Barnes, Lieutenant Wilson, and Lady Romanova during this trying time.” Helena declared with strength and conviction while still treading the thin line between deferring respect to the reigning monarchs and asserting herself as royalty after so long where she felt the title remained as a cruel taunt or reminder of her dignity stripped from her.

“You poor thing! You have endured such great challenges!” Queen Virginia placed her hand over her heart, and she sympathetically examined the brave young woman standing before her. She and Tony heard about Princess Helena’s abduction by Hydra, but neither they nor their allies knew the proper recourse for such deliberate action. Eprana was a neutral island and entering the fray might make the kingdom without a standing army a vulnerable target. “My husband and I are the honored ones to offer you refuge with us until you wish to return to your home.”

“Yes, we shall offer you a place to rest your head and whatever else you might need.” “Tonight’s feast shall represent more than a homecoming for the Manhattan people, but a welcoming invitation to Princess Helena and her extended stay within our great borders until the great Hydrian threat is dismantled into ashes.” King Anthony announced to the court, which greatly pleased them from the roars and claps pouring forth. The noble families and social elite were quite favorable to destroying the threat Hydra posed to their status but knew that the presence of the eligible Princess Helena opened opportunities for political alliances across kingdoms or perhaps the possibility of a marriage agreement.

“Thank you, Your Majesties. I promise that I shall be alright selecting from what dresses I brought with me. I am certain that a short bath will make one of the two viable options-” Helena attempted to explain that she would not require much, as not to burden them with her presence, but her revealing that she only had two dresses to her name elicited a reaction she did not expect—she should have.

“Oh, no, no! That will not do,” Queen Virginia protested, and a small gasp escaped the young Princess Morgana, which many of the women scattered among the noble onlookers. Such an idea seemed to baffle them, and they supposed that her time in Hydra reconditioned her to be content with less than adequate accommodations. That would not continue while she stayed in Manhattan. “Princess Helena, come with me. We must give you proper care after months of unsanitary conditions in Hydra’s poverty-stricken country!” With her declaration, several female servants rushed forth, and their gentle hands prodded Helena to follow Queen Virginia and little Princess Morgana from the room. The Queen felt a kinship with the young woman and decided to sweep her away from all the policy talk and boring formal return, seeing as she suffered enough.

King Anthony stayed behind while his wife and daughter escorted their new royal guest to a chamber of her own, wishing to prepare her for that evening’s celebratory festivities. He gestured for Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky to depart from the room with him. They would be holding their discussion of the evidently failed negotiations elsewhere, a precautionary move meant to protect the information from spies or prying ears.

“To the court, I declare you dismissed! Come now, we have much to discuss.” King Anthony remarked, and the two groups went about their separate ways with the nobles escorted out of the castle while those of the Manhattan envoy made haste to the throne room where meetings of such high caliber were conducted. The five shuffled into the room, and when the double doors closed with a resounding slam, he turned with a look of stern annoyance. “Alright, which of you want to tell me what the hell happened?”

“The talks were sabotaged from the beginning. We were warned of an assassination attempt on the first night, we slogged through around four days of talks, Rumlow picked a fight and demanded we leave. His temper singlehandedly spoiled the peace talks, and we gathered that he intended to do so. He wants endless war; he thinks he can win.” Natasha informed, glossing over the finer details of the negotiations as they often ran in circles with her and Pierce playing verbal chess while Steve and Rumlow conducted heated exchanges with the underlying subtext that their anger revolved more around a certain brunette princess barred from the negotiations than anything else.

“Then, the question is, where do we go from here?” Tony gauged the experts, his friends, standing around the edge of the room and surveyed their faces. How much did they believe that this war was one they could win and reasonably soon? War was a taxing, messy endeavor, and he never chose this for his people, but his duty was to protect them. The people of Manhattan would not be safe until the Hydra threat got put down like a rabid, stray dog.

“What we know is that several uprisings have taken place in Sokovia, attempts to unseat Ultron and his cohorts from power. Our momentum is gaining there. That and the people of Hydra’s discontent with those in power is a slow-burning powder keg, prepared to blow.” Bucky reported as his focus during the war was on Sokovia. He spent nearly two years there as a prisoner of war when apprehended by Hydra forces, and his return to Manhattan saw a different side to James Buchanan Barnes, a quieter and more withdrawn side.

“As for the Wakandan Civil War, King T’Challa reports that he anticipates the war with the insurgents might hit a turning point within the next six months to a year. He reclaimed several key providences, and I believe sending some troops, when we are in a stable enough condition to do so, will bolster that time frame.” Sam added his opinion to the mix, bringing up a longtime ally in the Kingdom of Wakanda. Hydra influenced insurgents to rise up, led by one Erik Killmonger, to usurp the throne for Hydra control. Although, intel suggested that Killmonger holds ulterior motives of rejecting Hydra’s influence for unilateral authority over Wakanda. 

“Not to mention, Princess Helena contributed to our cause, and Eprana deserves our support during this time. The move might be a risk, but the island holds a significant strategic role in preserving peace, especially when a victor emerges from this war.” Steve declared, knowing his decision bordered on controversial, and he wanted Helena to receive aid from the efforts she took to help them.

“How so?” Intrigued by what role Princess Helena had to play in the success of their return and the overall war efforts as she came from the one kingdom sworn to uphold neutrality, Tony turned to Steve and gestured for him to elaborate. Such actions would defy the previous precedent, and therefore, required an explanation for him.

“She was the one who sent the messenger to warn us about the assassination attempt and covered our escape when several Hydrian warships chased after us. She might be a beautiful face, but her power lays beyond what any of us in this room can do.” Steve explained vaguely, not knowing how to describe the magical phenomena generated by Helena’s hands during times of crisis or uncertainties.

“Hmmm, I see. For now, we should examine our next moves when it comes to Hydra. You all are dismissed,” Tony remarked, and there started a continuous shuffle toward the doors. “Steve, would you mind staying behind for a moment?” He questioned, just as Steve planned to head out the door and unwind before another banquet. He found social events to be taxing, especially after months of sea travel and the consistent worry that their ship might engage in an enemy fire with limited resources to fight back. He halted in the doorway and stepped back into the room, instinctively closing the door behind him as he knew what this conversation would be about. Helena. Bringing her to Manhattan meant that she was his responsibility, which equaled him, explaining to Tony why it happened in the first place.

“Look, Tony-” Steve sighed, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading and prepared his defense. He and Tony did have their moments of butting heads on what to do, and that is why they tended to operate in separate jurisdictions of the kingdom. Tony ruled, created laws, and managed the daily executive functioning with Pepper to keep him in line. He was responsible for the safety of the kingdom and the strength of the troops, conveying an image of protection over the vulnerable subjects from outside threats. Those two goals were supposed to work together harmoniously, but occasionally conflicted when decisions made by either he or Tony undermined each other. They were stubborn friends who, although having immense respect for each other after their initial dislike, clashed for the betterment of the country. Their squabbles tended to end with a resolution reached by a vote of the advisors or input from Pepper, the skilled mediator between her husband’s wishes, and the General’s expertise.

“Steve, I want to know how and why Princess Helena came off that boat with you. No details spared,” Tony held up his hand, not wanting Steve to pull any punches or dance around the subject. There was no time for that; he needed to know so he might prepare a political strategy for the potential backlash.

“Truthfully, Princess Helena and I did not coordinate her escape, nor did any of the others. She orchestrated the plot on her own when she discovered Rumlow’s intent to spoil the negotiations. From what she shared, she used the early morning to her advantage, packed a small bag of belongings, and snuck through the palace and onto the streets. She smuggled herself into my cabin on the Howling Commando and hid there until I discovered her while already out to sea.” Steve recounted for Tony and observed the various emotions flashing across his face during the brief explanation: shock, confusion, and respect for Helena’s craftiness. “As for Rumlow, she refuses to discuss in detail what she went through, but I have some suspicions. He likely verbally degraded her, left her to her own devices for hours upon hours, disrespected her honor by having a public mistress, possibly laid hands on her at some point, threatened to harm her should she talk back to him. One of those actions alone would constitute cruel treatment, let alone multiple.”

“Pepper spoke for the both of us down there. We will not turn that poor girl away after the hellish few months she endured, we cannot. Princess Helena may stay on this island as long as she needs to, which who knows exactly how long that will be, but there is one major issue with that. We know how Rumlow operates and his famously short temper. If that monster ever uncovers where Helena really went, that will open up a whole world of trouble. He will assume that she was smuggled here with your foreknowledge, which is true with all fairness, and that you conspired to take her. Now, I am not saying that you did. I believe your story about finding her on the boat when already out to sea. But, Rumlow will not care about the semantics of the situation; he will see it as you stealing his property, what belongs to him and him alone. He does not care for her as a living, breathing person, but he does care about his pride, which he will do anything to avenge when he believes he was wronged.” Tony warned, rubbing at his beard and feeling overwhelmed about the possible danger they invited to Manhattan’s shores by taking in the beautiful royal refuge. Helena’s face told it all. That woman was in fear for her life, and he pitied her. He just wanted Steve to understand the consequence that came along with doing the right thing, the hard thing. The political expedient but cruel choice would have resulted in them bringing Helena back to the Triskelion and returning her to Rumlow.

Steve was conflicted. He understood that his actions came with a set of consequences and that Rumlow would do something drastic if he ever discovered the truth. It would not be fair to characterize his point by thinking that he did not care about Rumlow. It would be better said that he grew to care for Helena more than he feared retaliation from Rumlow.

Somehow the hours upon hours standing between the grand ball melted away, and the event of the evening came for all within Manhattan’s gleaming walls. People of all classes were invited into the courtyard, garden, foyer, or the ballroom and dining hall. Two thrones were moved into the ballroom for King Anthony and Queen Virginia, dressed in their finery and regal robes, sat atop to enjoy the sight of their people feasting, dancing, and enjoying the merriment of the evening. The high table was prepared for them to sit at with additional seats for their guests of honor in Princess Helena and the Manhattan envoy.

Standing off to the side of the dais, Steve fidgeted uncomfortably in his attire. He was restricted armor and made to wear an outfit befitting of the event, which left him in a gold-accented navy tunic, matching cape, and slim white trousers. He felt awkward and stuffy in the attire, knowing he might give a leg and an arm to wear his favorite pair of armor. He already slogged through the comments from Clint, Natasha, Bucky, and Sam regarding his sleek appearance. So, he applied his tried and true method of indulging himself with wine to get through the night of ceaseless bragging, flirting from a few of the women gathered there tonight, and possibly a drunken duel challenge if the last celebration of this nature could provide any indication as to what the night held.

He halfheartedly paid notice to the conversation exchanging between his friends but did pick up on when they fell pointedly silent. He tilted his head to the side, confused, and watched them glance between him and something behind him.

“What is it?” Steve inquired, glancing between the gawking expressions of Sam and Bucky, Natasha’s vague look of pride, and Clint’s giddy grin like the one when he sensed that something big was about to go down.

“You might want to turn around slowly, Steve,” Bucky suggested, and Sam gave him the light nudge to conduct a begrudging about-face, wondering what all the dramatics was about. Then, he saw her. Standing at the top of the stairs, Helena entered into view and all rational thought swiftly abandoned Steve when he took her in. She was a vision of beauty. Apparently, he was not alone in that sentiment for how the conversations dimmed, and all eyes turned onto Helena as she hiked the skirt to descend down the stairs. She cast her eyes to the floor while she desperately attempted to regain her strength. She dazzled in a [sky-blue ballgown](https://d3u67r7pp2lrq5.cloudfront.net/product_photos/79026781/file_2baa4f15de_original.png) fitted so perfectly to her womanly curves, gracefully cupped her shoulder with the off-the-shoulder sleeves, and embellished with the softest hits of applique flowers among the tulle. She glowed like a goddess in the blue, which complimented her eyes. The [glittering tiara](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7f/a2/bd/7fa2bd02d0ed077d94d48873dcd7998f.jpg), perfectly nestled in her complicated updo, caught the light of the chandelier and brightened the polished silver and crystals. Princess Morgana gifted it to her before leaving the room, joyfully shrieking that no princess was complete without a “sparkly tiara.” Helena politely obliged the young princess’s request and allowed the maids to place the tiara chosen by Morgana onto her head.

“All-Father help me. Those are too many eyes,” Helena whispered under her breath, and she desperately scanned the crowd until she found General Rogers, whose eyes were locked onto her. She nearly smiled when she saw his face, and the expression he wore set her heart rife with fluttering butterflies. She focused herself on successfully navigating the staircase, but the congratulations would need to wait. Surrounded by eager men on all sides, who clamored for her attention or a dance or a conversation, she swallowed thickly and felt at a loss for what to do. Eprana’s court was never as hectic or lively as Manhattan’s, which placed her at a significant and strategic disadvantage with the nobles wanting to see what she had to offer them.

She offered a polite yet pained smile and tried to move forward, finding her speed akin to a slug’s unhurried pace. The swarm of bodies caging her in made her chest constrict, and her world blur around the edges, all overwhelming her from understanding the conversations happening at her and not with her involved.

“Enough of this,” Steve growled, and he wordlessly passed his chalice of wine into Bucky’s free hand and started pushing his way through the crowd. His imposing frame and curt requests for people to move out of his way worked magnificently, with the group standing between him and Helena parting into halves. Helena witnessed, with amazement, as the people surrounding her thinned out, and a path paved ahead with General Rogers standing in wait for her. She briskly strolled up to him and slipped her hand with his.

With Steve claiming her attention, the noblemen reluctantly backed away as not to offend the General. Tonight was his night, and stepping on his toes might translate poorly with Princess Helena, who seemed fond of him. Together, Steve and Helena moved toward the head table, where the others planned on waiting. However, the live entertainment and bard prepared their various instruments for the first dance of the evening as they gathered their cues from the King and Queen. The crowd milling about the ballroom floor shuffled excitedly at the sound of music, and those who spent ample time at court knew the dancing was bound to begin.

“Might we dance, General?” Helena inquired, and the two of them recognized that they stood in the middle of the polished ballroom floor. Two circles, one large and one smaller, formed with the smaller inside the larger circle. Somehow, Steve and Helena managed to land themselves inside the smaller circle and at the epicenter of everyone’s attention, watching in bated breath on whether the General would accept the proposal to dance or would one lucky sod get their chance to swoop in.

“I can indulge a dance, although dancing does not find itself a strength of mine.” Steve caved with a small smile. The noblemen stumbling over themselves and each other to dance with Helena were thwarted by General Steve Rogers and could only watch as the princess guided him into a proper form. One set of hands held away from their bodies with the fingers laced together, his hand curved around her waistline and hand settled on the outward curve of her hip, her hand curling over his broad shoulder and fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, eyes locked together. To the music’s flourishing first note, those on the floor began to dance with their chosen partner and might switch upon the next song.

While partners, when not romantically involved, often maintained proper distance to signify respect for decorum and chastity. None of that followed with General Rogers and Helena. The lack of space between them, demonstrated through their chests pressed together, and the proximity of their faces to each other raised a few eyebrows. Plus, their moves were not the airy prance of the other dancers, but smooth and deliberate gliding across the floor—a more intimate visual. Most of all, the looks the two shared were scandalizing at best. They appeared utterly enamored with each other and in their own little world, ignorant of those around them looking on. Rumors, birthed from jealous or overzealously gossipy mouths, spread around the room like wildfire about the nature of the General’s and Princess Helena’s relationship. Although she was taken to be Rumlow’s bride, had an illicit love affair blossomed between her and General Rogers during their sea-faring voyage. The music ended as quickly as it started, prompted by King Anthony rising from his seat. The move garnered attention from those dancing, and all eyes paid their reverence to the benevolent king responsible for such a beautiful celebration.

“Greetings to all who came to this momentous occasion. I am sure that coming tonight was not hard to conceive with the free alcohol and beautiful people to admire,” Tony declared and earned a wave of laughter from the amused crowd. Steve and Helena surreptitiously glanced at each other but did not separate from their position. “I do not wish to interrupt the merriment for much longer, only long enough to raise a toast to our honored guests for tonight. Ladies and gentlemen of fair Manhattan, I urge you to raise your glasses high for General Rogers and his safe return from a daring voyage into enemy territory. He and his companions in Commander James Buchanan Barnes, Lieutenant Sam Wilson, and Lady Natasha Romanova diligently served us and offered the chance for peace and an end to the war. Then, we raise our glasses for Princess Helena Nepheros of Eprana for her visit in Manhattan and bravery during the challenges of this war. She might wear a gorgeous gown and tiara tonight, but her spirit wears the strongest armor of faith and wields a sword of determination. Finally, I call a mention for Manhattan. May ever prosperous shall she remain!”

“To Manhattan! To General Rogers and his men! To Princess Helena!” The crowd echoed boisterously while raising their glasses high into the air. The night was young, the ale and wine were flowing, and the victory of their heroes returning to the place where they belonged was enough to give the country embroiled in an inter-kingdom war a reason to forget, if only for the night.


	8. From Strangers to Lovers

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Helena awoke to a knock on her chamber door and her eyes delicately fluttered open, taking in the darkness surrounding her. She glanced over to the curtains, not entirely closed, to see the sky black as the night. She did not anticipate anyone might be awake at this hour of the morning, but she supposed that unexpected twists were staples here. Her life was changed by arriving and staying in Manhattan.

Everything about living in Manhattan was so _new_.

Helena relished the freedom she had, never wishing to take such things for granted. She could roam about the palace without armed guards observing her every move. She could go into town and experience the diverse culture of Manhattan’s streets. She could wear whatever she liked, eat whenever she needed food, and engage in activities that Rumlow might consider “colossally frivolous wastes of time.” Her spark for life burned anew in Manhattan and there was something about the bustling kingdom that reminded her of Eprana, although her home island would never be so big or busy.

As her staying in the palace would play out, her chambers laid a few doors down from General Rogers, or Steve as he insisted she call him when it was just the two of them. She then explained that she insisted he call her Helena for the same reasons and he, knowing his protests would not change her mind, conceded his resistance. Although, an occasional “Princess Helena” slipped out during casual conversation where the only two recipients were him and her.

With that, their tradition founded on the wooden decks of the Howling Commando continued to flourish. Helena’s balcony allegedly held the best views overlooking the eastern horizon and the Midgardian Sea. Each morning, Steve would sneak into her chambers by her invitation when the first inklings of daybreak shone through the night and they spent the sunrise together.

Helena sleepily rubbed at her eyes while she gracefully slipped from the protection and warmth of the sheets, crossing her spacious chambers that put the pitiful tower room in the Triskelion to shame. Her steps were silent against the polished, cold marble floors as she approached the door and quietly opened it a crack. Inquisitive blue eyes peered through the sliver of space and she managed to squint enough to make out a familiar face through the dark.

“Steve, what are you doing up? It is still dark out.” Helena whispered and she rubbed at her eyes, her face brushing against the billowing sleeves of her nightgown. Steve nearly chuckled from how innocent she looked while half-asleep, used to her manners and decorum always on display. Even in more private settings, she played the part of the diligent princess and he found himself questioning whether or not she ever allowed herself the freedom to just be. He knew there had to be someone in there beside Princess Helena, more like just Helena.

“I know,” Steve said with some amusement in his eyes when Helena pushed open the door further and left nothing standing between them. She could not help the smile for him when she woke up enough. “I had an idea. I know it is very early, but this is the perfect time to explore. I have somewhere very important that I want to share with you.” He glanced down both ends of the hall cautiously, not wanting to attract any attention to them. As the leader of Manhattan’s forces, he knew the palace guard rotations and locations like the back of his hand. Therefore, he planned to whisk Helena away from the glittering and dazzling palace for an experience that he thought she might enjoy.

“Really? Okay!” Helena blushed when she realized she might be a bit too loud for the sleeping castle and she shyly ducked her head, shielding her burning cheeks from Steve’s eyes. Although, the cover of darkness might be her friend.

“Great. You might want to get dressed in something not too fancy and bring a cloak along since the early mornings are the chilliest time of day.” Steve suggested and Helena realized that he was already fully dressed, prepared for the adventure he promised her. He looked as dashing as ever, extremely comfortable with himself compared to when he dressed for ceremonial functions. Helena nodded and silently closed the door standing between them to change.

She rushed to her drawers and pulled them open hurriedly, tearing her nightgown away from her body with the utmost urgency. Her naked body broke into gooseflesh upon the introduction of the seaside cold and what little moonlight entered her chambers bathed her in a vibrant silvery glow. She, sorting through the piles of extravagant or elegant dresses, needed to find a look befitting an adventure. She found [a brown and white gown](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/90/d7/ca/90d7ca9d7ca0e2f53bb06f1ebb3af81d.jpg) on the plainer side and quickly slipped into it, managing to button up the back by herself. She grabbed some sandaled footwear that were custom-made to remind her of home and a dark blue woolen cloak to protect her from the cold. She raced for the door and pulled it open.

“Okay, I am ready.” She declared and stepped out of the room, making sure to close the door softly behind her as not to disturb the peace. While she did so, Steve moved up ahead to the corner of the hall and checked around it for any guards. When he found none, he deemed the coast clear to move. In all honesty, there was nothing about their impromptu adventure which would get either of them in trouble, but he wished to avoid the rumor mill. Contrary to expectations, the palace guards gossiped as frequently as the maids and kitchen staff as to the secrets of the power players within the palace or frequent visitors. Since her arrival to Manhattan, Helena was the hottest new topic and their beyond friendly interactions did no favors to either to quell the questioning eyes.

“Come on,” Steve waved at her to follow him and, hiking up her skirt in her hands, Helena caught up to him and the two stealthily moved through the residential wing of the palace together. They narrowly dodged around the on-duty guards and stifled laughs when slipping past undetected as to secure their escape. Unfamiliar with the layout of the enormous palace still, Helena trusted Steve to guide her through and they made use of secret passageways that very few inhabitants of the castle knew about. The whole ordeal felt so secretive and thrilling to her; her heart raced to an erratic, unknown rhythm that she supposed belonged to the song of adventure, or was it a product of the fleeting glances and accidental brushing of hands happening between her and Steve?

“This must be some surprise,” Helena giggled, fully awake from all the excitement. Her mind scrambled through the possibilities of what he might want to show her. There was so much of the kingdom she had yet to explore!

“Trust me, I think you will love it,” Steve assured her, his tone confident and a smile evident in his voice. He reserved his smiles for special occasions, at least that is what Helena observed with her own two eyes. Steve was so stern all the time, and his smile was so wonderful to see. At some point during their sneaking around, their hands connected together and neither had let go. Either they had not realized it consciously, or they did not wish to learn what it felt like without the warmth of the other. Helena nodded along, her curiosity growing ever stronger alongside the oddly comforting sense of normalcy of their intertwined hands. 

The two of them slipped through the palace gates and wandered through the empty streets of The Golden City, witnessing the world in a moment of stillness. The capital district of the city never stopped to sleep, earning the namesake of “the city that never sleeps” throughout the Seven Kingdoms. However, the sight of absolute stillness and not a peep to be heard from the stalls of the market, no lights from the windows of the residences, or no people roaming the streets blew Helena away. Something about the peacefulness of the morning soothed Helena’s soul from the way she could hear the sea’s waves just beyond the walls and smelled the brine and salt she grew accustomed to while on the Howling Commando.

“I thought that Manhattan never slept,” Helena said, engaging in a bit of light teasing. That demonstrating her feeling comfortable around Steve. A smile pulled at him when hearing her laugh, the kind that rang with the clarity of bells and endlessly sweet like a touch of honey that breezed past him and left him dizzy.

“Although the quiet is a herculean feat for the capital district, this is not what I want to show you. I am taking you beyond the noise and the high-end markets for the well-to-do or stomping grounds for the social elite. I am taking you to the Manhattan I know, the one where I grew up.” Steve explained to her and took in the sparkle of her eye. She did not realize this adventure of theirs would turn so intimately personal. His childhood? She got used to him being somewhat evasive with himself where she gave so freely, despite her protestations.

“Oh wow,” Helena gasped and she perked up while looking around at the city, wondering what else she might see along the way. But the promise of something so personal to Steve triumphed over any busy marketplace or the splendor of the palace’s extensive gardens. She politely smiled and pulled the cloak down from her face. “Whisk me away then, Steve.” With her agreement, Steve guided her along to where he planned with their hands still connected.

Down the cobblestone streets and crossing through the dark of alleys, Steve brought Helena along as the splendor of the city transformed into something older and much more worn down. For all the greatness of Manhattan, it would be illogical to ignore the portion of the population separated from the ruling class by disparity. He made a name for himself despite his lowly birth and his childhood spent in the slums of Manhattan, known as Brooklyn. His origins as a commoner were no secret and once served as a detractor from his record of service in the eyes of the nobility, prejudiced by their lineages and silver spoons. Even as he stood among one of King Anthony’s greatest advisors, he never fully fit into the life of extravagant balls and political functions. At heart, he was the skinny kid from Brooklyn with a heart expanded from courage, a dream to fight against oppression induced by Hydra, and the moral upbringing from his late mother to do what was right.

While on their way into Brooklyn, Steve snuck glances over at Helena to gauge her reaction to the changes, and if anything, she appeared saddened by the disparity. No disgust or turning up her nose at the visible changes of the poorer side of the kingdom, nothing but pensive sadness when she saw the difference. She tilted her head down, swallowing back a small flicker of shame. She knew that there was no way she could have known his past. They stopped when they reached the outskirts of the district for Helena to take it all in. She observed the rundown buildings, the cramped spacing of the buildings, the sound of braying stray animals, and the overall wornness of the slums. She looked to Steve, and he, not wanting her silence to turn into pity, had an explanation prepared. 

“This is where I lived. They call this Brooklyn, the slums. See, for most of my life, it was me and my Ma—Sarah Rogers. My father was a soldier for the Manhattan Army, and he died during the initial stages of the skirmishes between Hydra insurgents when I was about six. He was a mean bastard, one who drank too much and raised his hand against his wife. My Ma was a wet nurse and she did her damnedest as a widowed mother to raise me by herself. We were poor as dirt but managed to scrape by. I took on odd jobs as a kid, but my dream was to become an artist. That dream never really came true since Ma got sick when I was almost an adult and she passed away. Except for Bucky, I am on my own. But I pulled myself from the slums when I enlisted into the Manhattan Army. The rest, they say, is history.” Steve recounted, the diatribe unprompted and mixed in with what Helena perceived to be shame when there was nothing for him to be ashamed of. She started to say something but stopped. Steve pulled his hand away and he would not look at her, leaving Helena mourning the loss of his warmth and contact. She reached for his hand again but was afraid he might pull away from her. A simple squeeze of hands would not be enough to convey and therefore, she needed to remind Steve Rogers who he was.

“Oh, Steve,” Helena gasped, not knowing why he feared a reaction from her. Could he not see how much she cared for him or that he meant more than his title? She took his face into her hands and forced him to look at her, take in her eyes brimming with tears for the skinny boy from Brooklyn who grew up too fast and compassion for the honorable man standing before her. “Did you think I would judge you any differently because of your childhood? I could never see you any differently than I do now.” Her words forced Steve to tackle his fears head-on and he stared deeply into Helena’s eyes and how they almost glowed with their blueness.

“And how would that be?” Steve inquired, swallowing thickly to shove the fear back down from his chest and bury it underneath a brave face. Helena’s lips curled into a smile of disbelief like she could not believe he did not realize how important he was to her.

“You are the most honorable man I have ever met. Frustratingly stubborn to a fault, dedicated to your work first and foremost, and grouchy more than you ever smile. But I consider you my hero.” Helena remarked sweetly and her words caused Steve’s jaw to drop open. She thought considerably high of him, which was much higher than he would have guessed. He needed to stop underestimating her kindness because no matter how impossible he might think it to top, Helena exuded kindness beyond what most could ever give to the world.

“Well, might this hero show you more of the diamond in the rough known as the Brooklyn slums?” Steve offered because he had much more to share with Helena and hoped that their unexpected heart to heart did not scare her off.

“I would be honored,” Helena accepted the offer, and the two resumed their stroll through Brooklyn. With a better understanding of what this place meant to Steve and his past, she saw Brooklyn as more than something to be sad about. She saw it as a place for development and that those living there could aspire to be great. She would perhaps speak to Queen Virginia about efforts to benefit the people living in the slums and provide opportunities for the betterment. They walked a little down the road when they spotted a small gaggle of kids standing together. That was not uncommon to see; kids often helped with whatever jobs they could and started before the sun rose.

“Oh my god! You’re General Rogers!” A tiny shriek came from one of the five kids standing around, and the looks on their faces were priceless. Standing before them was a living legend, a hero in the flesh.

“Yeah, I am,” Steve confirmed, and he stepped away from Helena a few paces, knowing the potential reaction. And, true to expectation, the kids sprinted over to him and surrounded him with enthusiastic squeals.

“Sir, is it true that you wrestled a manticore with your bare hands?” One of them questioned abruptly, having heard all the tales of his exploits. Whether substantial truths or fabricated fictions spun for the enjoyment of the people, the kids of Brooklyn listened to all stories about General Rogers and spread them.

“Can you punch through walls?” Another lobbed their question out there, which spurred more questions flying from the little bodies surrounding him.

“Are Hydrian people like lizards?” A third gasped, and that inquiry caused a mixed reaction of giggles, squeamish groans, and some mock vomiting at the thought of lizard-like beings.

“Woah, Woah, easy now. One question at a time, please,” Steve held up his hands and chuckled from the rapid questions flying at him from the eager eyes and shaking bodies standing before the man they considered a hero, a success story from Brooklyn. Helena stood off to the side and watched, in utter enthrallment, as Steve kneeled to reach the eye level of those kids. He spoke to them with compassion and humility when answering their questions, and she knew that he probably saw a little piece of himself in each and every one of them. She, for the moment, felt glad she disguised herself so that she might experience such a heartwarming and downright adorable sight. Her heart fluttered, and she felt her cheeks heat up. None of the kids had noticed her yet.

That happened to change when she felt an insistent tug at her sleeve, and she glanced down to see a little girl, one from the parade. She recognized her face, marked with a few patches of dirt but the big grey eyes. Helena smiled and she squatted down before her.

“I remember you. Thank you for the flowers at the parade. They were beautiful,” Helena complimented softly and the little girl gave her a toothy smile, showing off the small gap where one of her front teeth should have been. She found the reaction so earnest and opened her arms for the little girl, who hugged her. She closed her eyes and imagined that this brought some solace to whatever situations this little girl and her family faced. She missed the way that Steve glanced over and admired the sight of her sharing a tender moment with the young girl. Daybreak would be coming soon, meaning they ought to go on their way.

“Tell you what. How about I come back very soon and talk to you more? I have something very special I have to do before the sun rises for a special lady.” Steve bartered with the kids, hoping that he could placate them into letting him leave for then. He did plan to come back, true to his word.

“Is that Princess Helena?” One of the kids whispered loudly, and the others glanced between Steve and Helena, making the connection that it was the princess who walked up with General Rogers.

“Yes. But can you guys keep a secret for me and not tell anyone?” Steve requested with a pleading look and, guessing that the kids were too starstruck to disagree or pitied him a little since he was begging, saw all their nods with immense relief, “Thank you.” He grinned at them and turned back to Helena, who saw he was ready to go. The two of them waved to the children and headed on their way through Brooklyn.

“Steven Grant Rogers, is that you, my boy?” A voice stopped them as they progressed further into Brooklyn, and Steve glanced to their left, spotting a kind smile from a doorway. He should have remembered that this alley would guide them toward his and Bucky’s old stomping grounds.

“The one and only,” Steve chuckled and he smiled at the familiar face, one who he owed so much to. He rested his hand on the small of Helena’s back and gestured to the slim woman in the doorway. “Princess, this is Helen Cho, one of the best bakers in all of Manhattan.”

“You flatter me, Steve. I remember when you were ye high and all bones. You would come to fetch bread for your mother when she was feeling ill, even if you had to come before the crack of dawn. Now, you bring the esteemed Princess Helena to my humble bakery.” Helen Cho laughed that full-bellied laugh of hers, and she shook her head, glancing over her shoulder into the bakery. She always started her mornings early, and she already had some wares to sell. “I just finished making the apple turnovers. I want you to take them, one for you and one for the Princess, on the house.”

“Helen, you did not have to,” Steve assured her that such a gesture was not necessary as Helena was there for the experience and not to demand gifts of the common people. She was not like that. That and he had no way to repay her for generosity like that at the moment. 

“I insist,” Helen shook her head and she disappeared, only to return with a small wicker basket where a mouth-watering smell wafted from. Her apple turnovers were the best thing Steve ever ate growing up, even compared to Brooklyn Blackout cake. Helena graciously accepted the basket, not wanting to insult by refusing her gift.

“Thank you so much, Miss Cho.” Helena beamed at her with the smile that would make the sun ashamed and Helen waved the two of them off with a smile and well wishes. Steve and Helena hastened their pace to avoid more sidetracked distractions, and so they might reach their destination before the sunrise started without them.

Their destination happened to be the wall surrounding Manhattan on all four sides. Steve led Helena up a staircase that opened out at the ramparts and from that vantage point, they could see the whole kingdom as the sun rose. They would watch Manhattan wake up together.

When settled in their little balcony, made from a rounded corner of the ramparts, Helena passed Steve his apple turnover and took hers from the basket. They relished the last moments of moonlight and darkness before they expected the dawn to take over. Most of all, Helena was stunned by the beautiful view of Manhattan. The Golden City did take her breath away.

“I am glad to be sharing this moment with you,” Helena whispered softly when she set the wicker basket down beside her, and the two savored their apple turnovers. The soft moans of delight and the sight of Helena cleaning off her fingers made Steve grow a little hot under the collar. He tugged at his shirt and tried to focus on his food, not the way Helena enjoyed hers. That was a task of herculean efforts.

“So, am I ever going to figure out what our intertwined connection is, or can you take pity on a poor man?” Steve teased after a while in silence. The two had finished their apple turnovers and were watching the bright colors seeping through the black night. Helena glanced over, and Steve witnessed how solemn her expression turned. She knew something, something that she was not telling him. Or maybe she could not? Helena rubbed at her face and sighed, not able to hold it in anymore. She only hoped the timing was right. 

“We are psyhima. Many refer to them as soulmates, but Eprana legend calls them one soul split into two because together, they would be too powerful to obey the Pantheon.” Helena quickly explained, and she felt the shift between her and Steve, punctuated by his silence. Oh. Helena ran her fingers through her hair shyly, “I know the whole idea sounds absurd, but I was told such by-”

“Let me guess, Divella?” Steve offered a name, feeling he knew who. He recalled the goddess of love and beauty might know a thing or two about psyhimas.

“How did you know?” Helena questioned, wondering when Steve versed himself in the workings of Eprana’s theological and spiritual beliefs. She never went into detail about such topics as she was never asked to.

“She came to me and told me about you. So, what you are saying is not absurd, nor do I challenge it.” Steve admitted and Helena could only give a telling ‘ah’ in response. She should have expected that some subtle interference would go on both ends with Divella. She hung her head, hoping that she did not ruin the budding friendship. She swore to the Pantheon that something more was there, but she never knew the difference between wishful thinking and seeing the signs Fate leaves behind for her. Steve took note of her embarrassment and he laid a hand on her shoulder, “Helena, you told me what you think of me. I would like to return the favor. Helena, believe me when I say that nothing in this entire jeweled city could compare to you.” Steve’s words drew Helena into a trace, and her eyes tore away from the daybreak, playing out across the sky to meet his eyes. The two were leaning against the edge of the wall, their shoulders brushing, and the space relatively non-existent.

Helena’s hands reached out slowly and cupped his face between them, waiting for resistance. When none came, she stepped closer and into his space. The breeze carried up from the sea tickled their senses, but not enough to interfere. Her eyes fluttered closed, his did too. His hands sought out her slender waist to hold onto, to anchor himself into the moment. Pulled together by the long-simmering attraction hiding beneath the surface, their lips connected, and a sense of wholeness permeated them down to their cores. The kiss struck a match and caught on with the intensity of an inferno, encouraging Steve and Helena to surge forward in a reckless clash of limbs. Helena’s hands moved down to his chest, around to the back of his neck, resting on his broad shoulders. She mapped him out with determined urgency. Steve’s hands migrated south to her hips and gripped her tight, swearing that he never wanted to let her go.

Standing atop Manhattan’s wall and in the light of dawn, Steve and Helena embraced the turn of their connection from strangers tethered together by chance to lovers destined to be with a promise written in the stars. 


	9. The Flames of War

_Triskelion, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The search for Princess Helena had reached a frustrating impasse for Pierce and Rumlow, and no one in the kingdom of Hydra seemed to know where she went. After the first day of turning the castle upside down, Rumlow and his men descended upon the town in droves, investigated homes and business, and interrogated the townspeople as to her whereabouts. No one came forward with any information, and there were multiple bloody attempts to coerce any witnessed sightings of her from the subjects. All ended poorly with no avail.

It had been months. Nearly half a year came to pass since the princess vanished from the Triskelion with no clue as to where she might run to.

In the wake of no substantive answers, the Hydrian people devolved to the persuasion of rumors and nothing seemed too gruesome to describe the reasoning behind Princess Helena’s disappearance. Some alleged Helena should be presumed dead, and she flung herself from one of the many Triskelion’s ramparts or into the ocean to drown rather than marry their prince, which reigned as the most popular theory. Others speculated that Sharon, Rumlow’s jealous and slighted mistress, conspired to rid herself of the competition and purchased an assassin to do the fatal deed. Another theory postulated that Helena entangled herself with a secret lover as retaliation but ended as a victim of her lover’s hand by a cruel happenstance.

The lack of answers infuriated Rumlow. He thought he had it all in his grasp until he found that letter taunting him and his ignorance for missing the signs. Helena derided him through flowery prose and sullied his reputation with her insubordination. She brokered a rift between him and the public image Hydrians saw of him. Paranoia reigned over him, whispering that he could do little to stop the seeds of doubt from being sewn into the public consciousness. People might believe he lost command over Helena and that she, defying his rule, opened the opportunity for further rebellion among them.

Rumlow grew agitated easier, snapping at the slightest provocation or perceived slight from those deemed inferior. He skulked around the Triskelion for hours akin to a child who lost their favorite toy, less like the monster he was whose victim escaped her imprisonment. He considered himself absolved of any concern for Helena’s wellbeing, and a small part of him gleefully relished the idea that she might be harmed or suffering as a consequence of her disobedience.

In Sharon, he found a tentative ally in his disdain for Princess Helena but who urged him to move on, consider replacements for the prosperity of the Hydrian throne. She never stopped playing an angle or manipulating the circumstances however she might to gain the upper hand. Rumlow traditionally would appreciate such aptitude for underhanded, cunning decisions in an alliance, but he hardly bought into Sharon’s angle. She desperately craved to be his wife, wear the crown, and bear him his children as he desired in a wife. His intentions, however, were to birth heirs worthy of the throne and the promising empire awaiting him once the enemy in Manhattan crumbled before Hydra. Sharon was a commoner, and her blood would only dilute the purity of his future offspring. She would never be his wife or bear his heirs, much less occupy the throne alongside him. That is why he set his sights on Helena, for she was esteemed in beauty and her untainted royal lineage. No other woman could suit the task better than she, and her vanishing (and potential death) posed a genuine threat to his intention to procreate for the throne.

In his father, he found only derision and disappointment. An espousal of a haughty, know-it-all attitude for his mistake in letting Helena out of his sight left Rumlow avoiding his “father” whenever he could. Within the four walls of the Triskelion, there happened enough space to separate the two. The accident left the father and son, king and prince, annoyed by the flaws of the other. To Pierce, Rumlow was too brash, too arrogant, too fond of carnal pleasures, not focused enough on the war efforts, and irresponsible when faced with responsibility. To Rumlow, Pierce was controlling, too wrapped up in schemes rather than action, uptight, never interested in indulging in the finer things of life, and a menace standing between him and his plans. Neither fully respected the other, and such a divide became evident in the wake of the decision of abducting Helena for Rumlow’s bride.

Standing on a balcony, Rumlow glared out toward the town and observed Hydrians going about their business. They were oblivious to their prince watching them in undisguisable disdain and milled about the marketplace. From Rumlow’s vantage point, he saw them as pathetic little ants; he could simply crush underneath his boot. The comparison between the inferior beings he ruled over, and mindless insects meant to serve someone else connected in his mind, serving as a momentary but needed distraction.

Absorbed in his musings and the insults silently lobbed at the miserable people of Hydra from his ivory tower, Rumlow failed to notice he no longer stood alone on the balcony. Beside him, a cloaked figure of petite stature hummed with disgust evident.

“You are quite fortunate none of your people know how lowly you consider them,” The figure remarked disapprovingly and hardly flinched when Rumlow nearly leaped out of his skin. He watched as the figure pulled down the cloak’s hood to reveal a woman hiding behind reddish-brown hair.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” Rumlow reached for his belt where his dagger typically rested, but his hands brushed against emptiness. He took a double-take to see the blade he swore waited there missing.

“You may call me Vianna, Prince Rumlow,” Vianna replied quietly, pushing her hair away from her face. Rumlow observed her profile with some inkling of familiarity, feeling as though she looked vaguely like he met her before. Her glowing eyes of molten gold told him everything he needed to know; Vianna was of Vormir. Vormir was another Hydra ally, but they rarely stepped outside the bounds of their kingdom. She pursed her lips, emotionlessly, “I have an urgent message for you. You are looking for your runaway princess, no?”

“You are of Vormir. Tell me your message.” Rumlow snapped his fingers dismissively, which earned him a scowl from Vianna. She was not some dog to do his bidding or obey his beck and call. She was a high priestess of the arcane order, and no man would ever see her bow to them. However, the forces that be had bigger plans in motion, and she did not resist those plans. Rumlow was a pawn in the greater scheme of things, so she played along with his non-existent authority over her. Vianna cupped her hands together and closed her eyes, a billowing plume of mist rose up from her hand. The fog consolidated from see-through to milky white orb of clouds.

“What are you-?” Rumlow started to grow uncertain of her motivations, but Vianna silenced him with a harsh shush parting from her lips.

“Watch,” Vianna commanded serenely when pointing to the swirling mass of milky white clouds, and Rumlow begrudgingly paid attention, observing as the fog transformed into an image of Helena. The clouds flickered to life, and the sight of Helena, walking through the halls of the Triskelion, followed in real time. Rumlow watched how she stumbled across him and Sharon in the atrium. His scowl deepened when he realized she was spying on him, and her panicked reaction over his planned sabotage showed more concern for General Rogers than he found comfortable. She sprinted up to her tower, and when she started packing, he felt anger rising.

“What is she doing?” Rumlow questioned Vianna, feeling as this method was taking too much time and teased an answer. His patience wore thin with these mind games, and a small part of him questioned whether to believe Vianna or not.

“Keep watching,” Vianna chided his impatience and surreptitiously rolled her eyes. She was already regretting the decision to go with her father’s plan. With her limited interaction and assessment of Rumlow, she found him impatient and petulant and somewhat dimwitted. Rumlow growled from her refusal to answer to him and turned his head back to the vision, where Helena was in the gardens. He watched as she, in the darkness of the early morning hour, rendered his guards into unconscious heaps on the ground and sprinted through the streets without hesitation. She navigated through the city surprisingly well for someone confined to the inside of the castle and raced for the docks.

Rumlow’s mind flashed to the rumor that she pitched herself into the sea and prayed for her false gods to reclaim her through death. But then, where was the body? Admittedly, it should have washed ashore after such time since her vanishing and the current day.

However, the confusion vanished the instant the Howling Commando came into view, and he realized Helena was making a beeline for the Manhattan ship. His jaw clenched, and he knew what came next before he saw it play out: Helena boarded the ship furtively and slinked into the main cabin, no doubt belonging to General Rogers. He heard the victorious laugh bubbling from her lips, and she slumped against the bed. That smile of pure bliss irked him, and then, the scene changed to a still image of Helena wrapped up in General Rogers’ arms. The scene exuded a forbidden intimacy that made Rumlow uneasy. He turned away, not wanting to see anymore; his fledgling suspicions of an illicit affair between Helena and his sworn enemy confirmed.

“Unbelievable! This is a betrayal that shall not be forgotten, no matter how much time passes. General Rogers has traversed past the point of no return and sealed his fate. He should prepare his grave before I find him and his cowardly associates. My blade piercing his heart will not suffice as revenge. I shall break his body into pieces and force that devious whore to watch her lover’s demise.” Rumlow venomously ranted, spinning around to face Vianna and staggered back when he realized she was gone. He would never admit it aloud, but Vormirians frightened him down to his core with their abnormal magic and unnerving silence. Shaking off his discomfort, the anger returned in full force, and he thundered from his room. He encountered several servants in the halls of the palace and growled at them to move out of his way. When he passed by loose objects like candelabras or a stationary suit of armor, he shoved it over. The staff was freaking out in the wake of his tantrum. His reign of terror, complete with lashing out and physical destruction, traveled up to the throne room where he kicked the doors in.

“Father, Manhattan must burn to the ground!” Rumlow bellowed when he stormed past Pierce and grabbed a sword from one of the guards. He tore it through a tapestry along the wall, and the wild look in his eye caused the guards to shrink back. Rumlow threw the blade across the room blindly and heard the blade clatter against the ground, too livid to care.

“Rumlow, get ahold of yourself!” Pierce snapped when whirling Rumlow around, his eyes flashing dangerously with a threat meant for his son. He, losing his temper, was irresponsible and unbefitting of his station. He needed to calm himself, so they might proceed with proper recourse. Pierce rubbed at his chin and contemplated their next move. Manhattan crossed the line with such bold action, and that warranted retaliation. “We shall summon a talk with our allies and discuss this slight perpetrated against us by Manhattan.”

“Talking is not enough! I want war, father!” Rumlow demanded, finding talk not a viable or acceptable solution to this action. He knew that Helena conspired with Manhattan to launch an escape effort, and red flooded his vision. The veins along his neck popped and throbbed from the rage boiling over within him, his temper threatened to crash down in a flood of unrestrained violence, and his thoughts screamed for the death to that blasted General and that wicked wench in the princess. He should not have tolerated the way General Rogers stared at Helena, for it seemingly emboldened him to steal what rightfully belonged to him. 

“You will not always get what you want, you petulant bastard.” Pierce bellowed, and that seemed to shut Rumlow up, if from nothing but shock. His upbringing as a wild, uncontrolled prince left him unaccustomed to the word ‘no.’ Pierce pinched the bridge of his nose, and he knew that his shortcomings as a disciplinarian were coming full circle. Let his son never forget that it was he who wore the crown, he who made the decisions, and that privilege was his until he died. Rumlow would do well to remember his place and learn to keep his mouth shut in the presence of his superior. He dismissively snarled and waved his hand at his son, “You are dismissed. Get out of my sight.”

Without another word, Rumlow turned heel and stormed from the throne room. He was livid.


	10. The Bitter Kiss of Betrayal

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The evening had come, and the sun was sitting low in the sky, but for Helena, the night could not come fast enough. She prayed to Veva, goddess of the sun, to finish her daily journey across the sky on the back of her golden chariot pulled by the strength of griffin wings and bring the reign of her sister Alin, the goddess of the moon, with haste. She spent over twenty years dreaming about this moment, and she could not wait a single moment more. An agonizing need filled her bosom and poured out from her eager heart to see her lover.

Helena stood tall before a trifold, full-body mirror on an elevated pedestal, staring at her reflection with an unbreakable fixation on how she looked. Absentminded fingers toyed with the lace trim of the veil attached to her intricately braided bun with a silver tiara connecting the two. White everywhere on her danced a delicate duet with the sunlight filtering through the open balcony doors and bathed the room in a holy glow of the golden hour.

“You make the most beautiful bride, Helena. The Pantheon must smile down on you today,” Queen Virginia, who Helena knew as simply Pepper, complimented when the maids completed the fastening of the back of the dress’ corset. Helena appreciated Pepper’s inclusion of her faith and the willingness of the others to embrace the wedding customs of her kingdom alongside their own. Such open-mindedness made her feel nowhere near like an outsider. Her eyes of blue shimmered with anticipation when she examined herself for one last time. Her [dress](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/2c/6f/87/2c6f87c38cd896e5c1ad5b663c6179a9.jpg) sheathed her figure in modest, snowy white but cut-off before the shoulders flared out in a lengthy train and cape and cinched at her waist to better define the hourglass curve of her body.

She might look beautiful, but she felt divine.

She knew that, somewhere in the castle, Steve was waiting for her, and that summoned a burst of uncharacteristic impatience within her. In the span of half a year’s time, Helena had fallen madly, completely, irrevocably in love with Steve and she knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable with a drawn-out courtship. Since the kiss atop Manhattan’s defensive ramparts, the General and the Epranan princess were inseparable. Unless separated by the call of duty for Steve, they hardly spent a moment apart. The two made quite the pair, never seen far from each other, and even sharing a private chamber.

Pepper smiled sweetly when she helped Helena down from the pedestal, not wishing for the princess to trip over her skirt or train. Helena hiked up her skirt to reveal her white dress slippers until she touched down on the floor of the sunroom, where Pepper set up the preparation for the wedding.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Helena gushed with her cheeks tinted rosy pink, and she dropped the skirt down. Pepper nodded and gave her a reassuring rub of her back while the maids scurried about to open the doors for their Queen and their royal guest.

“Of course. Just remember that you will do lovely today and that Steve loves you,” Pepper kindly reminded when she sensed the anxiety prodding at Helena’s overwhelmingly positive responses through the small tics she associated with the princess’ tells. She was a genuinely sweet young woman, albeit one with the tendency to lapse into moments of anxiety or shyness. Her words adopted a soothing effect on Helena, who vowed to shun negativity on this important day. She refused to cave in on her and Steve’s day.

“I will do my best,” Helena promised in all sincerity, and the two royals exited the sunroom, heading through the abandoned halls of the palace toward the southern wing. There, in the infrequently explored halls, rested a little chapel for the inhabitants of the castle, but it rarely got used. For today, however, the chapel would host a small inner circle of trusted friends to witness the marriage of General Steve Rogers of Manhattan and Princess Helena Nepheros of Eprana.

The walk was relatively short, or perhaps it passed by so quickly from Helena’s perspective since all she could think about was what awaited her behind the doors of the chapel. She would be writing her happy ending with the suggested approval from Fate. Living in Manhattan after the hell on earth that was Hydra, she regained a sense of optimism. When they rounded the corner before the chapel, Pepper signaled Helena to wait, and she walked ahead. She pushed open the doors, sent Helena a reassuring glance before walking into the room, leaving Helena further ahead in the hall, to announce the princess approaching to the small pool of guests. Making some last moment adjustments by adjusting her veil, she delayed enough to provide some suspense and quickly moved down the hall. She entered the doorway and took in the sight of the chapel while those inside the chapel witnessed the beauty of the bride.

Standing between the altar and her, Helena took in the faces of Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Pepper, and a new friend of hers eagerly waiting. They erupted into gasps and chattery compliments about how she looked in the dress. No one doubted Helena’s royal lineage before that moment, but the regality and radiance she possessed when strolling up to the altar defined royalty.

As for Steve, one look his way would show that his soul departed from his body because the sight of Helena in white made him question whether he was even alive. Seeing him there, with a rare smile on his face, and knowing that she was the cause introduced a swarm of gentle butterflies into Helena’s bosom. Next to him, waited a priest who would officiate the ceremony with the approval of the Pantheon. He was briefed on Epranan marriage customs in conjunction with secularized Manhattan vows for a blending of two cultures.

Helena stepped up to the altar and accepted Steve’s hand when he held it out to her, stepping up to stand next to him. They locked eyes, and their smiles grew, both were thrilled to share this moment with those they considered their friends.

“Good evening to all, we are gathered here this day to witness the union between General Steven Grant Rogers and Princess Helena Emmeline Nepheros.” The priest declared and opened his tome of wedding rites, honored to conduct the ceremony for two high-profile figures of Manhattan society. He cleared his throat, “For the opening of the ceremony, we shall begin with a time-honored tradition belonging to Manhattan for thousands of years: the ring exchange. These rings are symbolic of your dedication to one another, and a physical reminder of the commitment you make until death do either of you part. Now, the rings?”

“That would be me,” Clint raised his hand in playful jest and jogged up to the altar, shrugging off the amused laughter from the wedding guests. He handed two golden bands to Steve and Helena, giving them the one belonging to their spouse-to-be. The rings were matching with Helena’s differentiated by the small, elegant pear-shaped sapphire molded into the center because Helena loved sapphires, and Steve wanted to make her ring the most special gift.

“Excellent. With these rings, you will recite the affirmations to your partner one at a time. When you finish, you shall adorn their finger with the rings,” The priest nodded and gestured for Steve to go first.

“I, Steven Rogers, take thee, Helena Nepheros, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to a holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.” Steve recited while slipping the golden and straightforward sapphire band onto her ring finger. His eyes diligently focused on not messing up during the most crucial ceremony of his life. He planned on making sure he got this one right.

“I, Helena Nepheros, take thee, Steven Rogers, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to a holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.” Helena softly recited her version of the vows while she ran her thumb across his knuckles. When she finished, she slid the simple gold band around his finger and cemented their joint commitment of loving each other until the end.

“The next ritual comes from the shores of Eprana in the form of the handfasting ceremony. Just like the rings, the handfasting symbolizes a lifelong bond through the tying of ribbons and the connection two hearts determine to share through the act of marriage. Are you prepared to embark on this commitment?” The priest explained to those in attendance who might be unfamiliar with the process.

“Yes.” Steve answered first when the priest glanced over to him. Need he ask how he felt about Helena? He was here, no. His emphatic, exuberant reaction when she walked down the aisle should be enough of an answer.

“I am too,” Helena giggled before the priest needed to ask her, not wanting to hold up the ceremony with any doubts. Her response made Steve’s shoulder bristled with pride, noticeable to his friends watching the service.

“General Rogers and Princess Helena, I bid you look into each other’s eyes” He informed and watched as Helena and Steve turned inward to face each other. They connected their opposite hands, her right and his left when some of their friends approached with several narrow, navy-colored ribbons of silk in hand. The priest nodded and glanced at the short passage of rites, “Will you honor and respect one another, and seek to never break that honor?”

“We will, and so the first binding is made.” Helena and Steve chimed synchronously as Natasha gently draped the first ‘cord’ over their joined hands. There were four in total; each cord represented an agreement to the sacred vows of the handfasting ceremony. The silk was soft to the touch, and representative of a color shared between Steve and Helena: blue.

“Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it?” The priest moved down to the second vow, asking of Steve and Helena even when he knew the answer already.

“We will, and so the binding is made.” Steve and Helena agreed, and Sam laid his cord down, making it the second one, in a crisscrossed shape over their wrists pressed together. He and Natasha stepped back to their places from before, leaving Bucky and Wanda standing behind Steve and Helena.

“Will you share the burdens of each so that your spirits may grow in this union?” The priest questioned, steadfast in his delivery and doing his best to keep the tone joyful and lively.

“We will, and so the binding is made.” This urged Wanda to approach with the third cord, which she laid across the crisscrossed mark horizontally, and step back when she completed that task. She was ecstatic for the General and the princess, knowing they deserved endless happiness. 

“Will you share each other’s laughter, and look for the brightness in life and the positive in each other?” The priest questioned, drawing his eyes from the page of handfasting vows, handwritten as the ceremony was not something he typically conducted. He sat down with the princess at an earlier date and scribed the promises that she recalled of handfasting ceremonies she remembered. That was the fourth and final vow.

“We will, and so the final binding is made.” Steve and Helena recited for the final time as Bucky laid his cord vertically across the crisscrossed pattern, stepped back, and escorted Wanda back to the others. With the four vows affirmed by the happy couple, the two of them worked in unison to knot the individual chords into an intricate binding of their joined hands. When they showed off the beautiful, artistic knot to the priest upon completion, he nodded and gestured for them to hold the knot up proudly.

“These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on this joyous day of matrimony as you promise to love one another today, tomorrow, and forevermore. These are the hands that shall work alongside yours to build a future together. These are the hands that will wipe the tears from your eyes, ones of sorrow and joy alike. These are the hands that shall bestow you strength when needed. They are the hands that shall remain with you until they fall old, wrinkled, and aged with wisdom and time but never losing the loving touch shared on this day.” The priest remarked while glancing between the couple, smiling at their unshakable commitment and knew that they would weather the storms of life—come hell or high water. “That completes the handfasting ceremony. If there should be any objections to this union among those present, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He warily glanced over at the small crowd of Steve’s closest friends, including quiet but gentle Wanda Maximoff and the King and Queen of Manhattan, for any objections they might have as to the union. Although, he highly doubted there were any.

“Yeah, none of us are particularly interested in meeting the business end of the General’s sword,” Tony teased from off to the side, not worrying about portraying the image of an overly dignified king or all-business when this moment meant a celebration. His tongue-in-cheek comment earned a few laughs, even from the bride and groom.

“If there are no objections, then I declare you man and wife by the powers vested in me.” The priest declared, closing the book of rites in his hands, and made a sweeping gesture for Steve to do as he pleased. Steve and Helena, with hands still bound by the ribbons, leaned in close until their noses brushed. Helena’s eyes fluttered close while Steve inched forward and connected their lips, sealing the ceremony with a passionate kiss. The kiss, acting as their bond, meant their hands could come unbound, and Helena gave three skilled tugs to undo the tied cords. Hands free and love overwhelming, Steve and Helena held each other close to the enthusiastic cheers of their witnesses.

“I love you,” Steve and Helena murmured to each other, one right after the other. In the quiet little chapel of the Tower in the Golden City, the intimate affair of their wedding felt so right. Nothing about it would they change. The moment called for something private and for the Pantheon to recognize. There was an extra benefit for the simple affair, and that came in the form of legal protections against Rumlow as Steve was her husband. In the eyes of the Pantheon and the law, nothing could separate them besides death, and that mitigated Rumlow’s claim to her as a betrothed.

“A congratulations to the happy couple! We have a celebration in store, complete with a feast from the palace cooks that smelled heavenly when I passed through this morning.” Clint cheered, sounding more excited about the prospect of the food than the momentous occasion of his good friend and colleague getting married to literal royalty. Some chuckles escaped those in the room over Clint’s priorities, but Helena utilized Clint’s distraction to occupy her husband’s attention.

“I have one thing I must do, an important tradition before we meet down with the others,” Helena whispered to him, and Steve grinned, squeezing their interlaced hands. Whatever she needed to do, he would help. From the twinkle in her eyes, there seemed to be an invitation for him to accompany her.

“As you wish, my love,” Steve agreed, and Helena smiled sweetly at him, glad he understood the implied proposal. This rite of passage she planned to share with him held great importance among the women of Eprana and getting one’s spouse involved signified good luck and prosperous marriage to come. Helena did not wish to do it without her husband and equal. Steve cleared his throat and announced to the other, “We will meet you down in the dining hall soon.”

“Yes, meet us when you are ready!” Pepper spoke on behalf of the guests, granting Steve and Helena the permission they wanted to enjoy a private moment of their own before further celebratory engagements. The newlyweds linked their hands and swiftly departed from the room, with Helena leading the two of them back to their chambers. There was an urgency to her movements, which did not slip past Steve’s notice, but he had no intention of pointing it out. He merely assumed that Helena was thriving on the high of their finalized nuptials, and he could hardly blame her; he felt untouchable and invincible, knowing her love was his forever.

Upon reaching their chambers, Helena pushed open the door with her back and pulled her husband inside with her, fixing a dazzling smile upon her lips. She had prepared cosmetics that morning for the ceremony, so the crushed powder sparkling around her eyes and the crimson ocher she tinted her lips with accentuated her features.

“So, what is this special custom?” Steve inquired after Helena closed the door behind the two of them, and she removed the veil and tiara from her hair, setting it down gently on the nearby dresser.

“In Eprana marriage customs, there is a tradition where the bride changes into a second gown when partaking in the post-ceremony festivities to show her bond to her new spouse. She would select a dress of a certain color, related back to her new spouse’s social status or career.” Helena explained, and Steve cocked his head to the side. That was interesting. She glanced over her shoulder at him sheepishly and tilted her head down to gesture at the back of her dress. “I could borrow your hands to fix this damned corset.” Steve did not need to be told twice as he came up behind Helena and reached for the corset to undo it.

“Is that so? And do tell, what colors do the wives of soldiers wear?” Steve found himself curious while he loosened her corset. Helena never minded sharing about her culture or experiences in Eprana with him, which much intrigued him. The two of them openly shared stories about the way they grew up, two worlds apart but coming together.

“The color of custom is red. It is a color of strength but of sacrifice.” Helena informed him, and she held in her breath when his calloused, warm fingers traced down her spine under a feather-light touch. Each corset’s eyelet freed made the dress grow heavy and slip from her body, starting from her shoulders to growing around her midsection. Steve hummed, but his mind wandered with two things: the sight of more revealed skin and the thought of Helena in red. Those thoughts alone dried his throat out, and he swallowed thickly.

“The symbolism is quite poignant, my love,” Steve remarked, and Helena noted the way his voice pitched higher and how he tried to mask it underneath a clearing of his throat. He finished the final eyelets and marveled at his expedient work of the corset, which gave him some nerves when first eyeing it. Sensing he finished with her dress, Helena spun around to face him and resisted the urge to bite on her lower lip.

“However, this ceremony has taken on a newer meaning through recent years. The bride tends to ask her husband or her wife to assist with the undressing from the wedding gown to the bonded one, and that time does get used for the additional purpose of consummating the marriage for those too eager to wait.” While she said that, Helena slowly pushed the dress from her shoulders and did nothing to stop it from falling her body into a pile on the floor of white chiffon fabric. She managed the most shyly seductive bat of her lashes while glancing up at Steve, reaching behind her back to free open her bindings. She started loosening them, where they sat around her chest. “I know such an offer might come across as audacious, but I-”

Whatever Helena planned to say would get cut off by the sensation of Steve bridging the distance and covering her lips with his, lighting a fire in them both. She felt the warm air of the night envelop her newly freed chest and harden her exposed nipples, which were immediately juxtaposed by the cool touch of Steve’s armor pressing into her body. Helena shivered delightedly when Steve’s hands grabbed blindly underneath her thighs and scooped her up into his arms with swoon-worthy ease.

Steve ambled toward the bed, cautious to avoid stepping on her discarded wedding gown, and the two of them tumbled onto the bed together in a pile of limbs. It dipped under their weight, but neither paid much attention, too preoccupied with their lips on each other. Steve, on top, pressed Helena into the sheets that she gripped, and she relished the swarm of butterflies awakening when her husband threw her leg around his waist. There was one complication, however-

“Steve, darling, your armor is still on-” Helena gasped out when she felt her husband’s wandering hands give an experimental tug at her smallclothes, the last remaining item on her body while he remained fully dressed. Steve glanced down at himself and let out a little curse when he realized she was right.

“Sorry about that, my love,” He apologized, pulled back, and worked to discard his armor. Helena, sitting herself up, helped him with nimble fingers and a drive to get him back on her. Together, they made quick work of his chain mail, breastplate, gauntlets, pauldrons, and other armor pieces; they even removed his shirt from the picture to reveal his chiseled chest in the slowly darkening room. Satisfied thus far, Steve pinned Helena back down to the bed with him on top. His mouth mapped out wherever she would let him go, and for Helena, her body was his to explore as he desired. She found her fingers knotting into his hair and guiding him to where she liked him touching.

“I have never- This is all new to me-” Helena blurted out when she, losing herself in the overwhelming excitement of anticipation, recognized that no clothes stood between the two of them. She felt many things: self-conscious about her body, enthralled with Steve’s godly physique, simultaneously prepared and unprepared for what supposedly came next. Her stammering caught Steve’s attention, and he made her look at him, only compassion as far as she could see.

“Helena, I promise that you are okay. I will be gentle, and you are free to tell me how you feel,” Steve assured her, and he was more than okay with stopping if she felt uncomfortable with the progression. Pushing her would make him a monster, and he respected her boundaries. He just wanted her to be comfortable and understand he wanted to make love to her, his wife. “Are you okay with that, my love?”

“Yes! Please make love to me, Steve!” Helena begged, feeling safe and secure with him. She had no idea where the sudden strike of anxiety came from, but she assumed she was afraid of disappointing him. But her, in her most vulnerable state, would never disappoint him. Steve made sure to cradle her and lined his cock up to her entrance, expecting to break through her flower. He, with expressed consent, pushed the tip of his cock inside of her and watched her moan painfully and writhe a little. He stopped, but she gave him a look that begged him to get the pain over with. He slowly pushed himself through until his cock was buried inside of her, and he bottomed out, signaling he went as far as he could go.

“Helena, my love, please talk to me,” Steve said, pushing a stray hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat-inducing heat. The move soothed Helena’s stress, and she felt the tightness of her body from the intrusion relax slightly.

“It hurts a little.” Helena cried out softly, not trying to sob from the discomfort, unlike anything she experienced before. She recalled Divella’s forewarning that sexual intercourse might hurt the first time for her virginal body. But Steve was handling her and treating her with such gentleness and respect that she could not help but prepare to ride the pain out until pleasure came.

“It will subside. I promise you,” Steve whispered, and he made sure to wipe any stray tears while Helena’s body adjusted to Steve’s thick cock stretching her out. She forced steady, full breaths out through exhaling to manage the discomfort of the burning stretch. As Steve promised, the pain subsided into an odd sensation of hollowness that opened itself to pleasure. Helena tapped his shoulders, and he nodded, “I think you are ready.” With that, Steve started rocking his hips and thrusting at a smooth, easygoing pace.

Helena gripped her nails into his back, and she could not help the moan that escaped her from the knot of pleasure forming in her lower abdomen. The whole world spun as the pleasure built in her and Steve, as evidenced by the grunts and guttural cries of her name. She would find herself grounded every time he kissed her senseless, and the embrace would send her tingling down to her toes. She liked it when Steve brought her legs around his waist and when he drew her lower lip between his teeth, which she reinforced with needy moans.

Steve was thoroughly enamored by Helena, from the little noises she made to how she wholeheartedly transformed from uncertain of herself to experimenting a little on her own. Steve did not share that he was as inexperienced as she was and that he was winging it as he went along, but that worked in his favor it seemed. Every thrust inside of her, tight and slick, made him go a little wild on the inside. He, with Helena, was like an alcoholic when handed liquor: addicted and intoxicated. He felt his body heat up in between the feverish kisses and the exploration of her body, not expecting to last much longer.

“Helena- love you-!” He grunted out when he slammed his hips a final stroke and felt his seed release inside of her, draining him of all his energy. He gasped when feeling his cock twitch and watched Helena’s body almost glow. Her eyes flashed, and she let out the most beautiful moan.

The world snapped back into clarity when her back arched off the bed, Steve’s name tore from her lips, and the tightly wound knot festering in her abdomen unraveled in a snap. A rush of euphoric warmth blanketed her, and she hardly realized her broken gasps outside of the rush in her ears. Steve lowered himself slowly as not to crush Helena and took her into his arms, letting her ride out her finish. When she came down, the two of them basked in the silence of the room and the feel of their connected bodies. Helena nuzzled her face into Steve’s neck, regaining her breath. The smell of sweat from the warm summer evening, musk, and the luxuriously hedonistic addition of sex swirled around in her mind and dared her to savor the memory. The space between her thighs of her most sensitive place ached with dull pangs that aligned to her beating heart, but the warmth settling inside her lulled her eyes to grow heavy.

“My love, are you alright?” Steve inquired, taking in how exhausted and utterly spent his wife appeared with her eyes rolling back, limp body, and her face pressed up into his shoulder. So worn out from the consummation that she might not make it to dinner, he fretted.

“I am… perfect,” Helena sighed dreamily while she lazily kissed up the length of his neck, feeling his body flex above her. A hearty groan rumbled in the cavity of his chest, and the vibration tickled Helena’s cheeks a deeper pink.

“If the others were not waiting for us, I might suggest that we stay here longer.” Steve proposed, and Helena pouted, knowing that her husband was right. Them delaying too long would arouse suspicions with the others, and there happened to be the silver lining of them having the rest of the night to themselves for more. She delicately turned Steve’s face toward her and leaned up, encouraging him to seal the distance of their lips. The kiss was slow yet tinged with passion in the way Steve explored Helena’s lips, and his hand migrated down her curves to playfully squeeze at her hip. Helena could not help the giggle she released into the kiss, and Steve pulled away, staring at her with loving eyes.

“Okay, we must head down now.” Helena agreed, and Steve nodded, just as reluctant as she to leave the inviting embrace of the bed. He gave her a breathy warning before he pulled his cock out from deep inside of her. Helena made a small squeak of protest, feeling emptier and less warm without it buried inside of her. Steve helped to gently sit his wife up when she gave him the agreement to do so, and the two of them went to retrieve new clothes. Helena did grab the brilliant [crimson gown](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/f5/8e/1c/f58e1c8919135f3d5230421bf3b1be2f.jpg) for the change after wrapping her bindings and slipping her smallclothes back on.

Steve, choosing to forego most of the heavy metal armor pieces, adopted a fancy tunic and trousers with his boots. Then, he assisted Helena with buttoning up the back of her dress and had an easier time than when she wore a corset. His touches were soothing, unhurried, and gentle—contrasting to the desire and urgency from when they were stripping each other of their clothes.

Returning to their celebration, Steve and Helena joined their friends in the dining hall, which boasted a table filled with delicacies. As per negotiation with the couple prior, whatever was left over would be given to those starving in the Brooklyn slums to feed their families and prevent waste. They were met with cheers upon their arrival, and no one seemed to suspect anything from their delayed return with the outfit changes.

Steve escorted Helena to their chairs stationed in the spot of honor, and they marveled at the spread of food and wine for them to consume, capitalizing on the occasion. The newlyweds exchanged smiles when seating themselves and reached for their chalices of wine to prepare a toast. However, that endeavor never came as the double doors burst open with two armored soldiers sprinted into the room and sank into a kneel before the table.

“General, we have an emergency! The guards manning the gates allege a stranger arrived on our shores and raced to the gates, screaming that she had an urgent message to the princess. We asked for more information, but she erupted into hysterics and her ship looks of Hydrian origin.” The guards informed, and the jovial mood soured with the mention of Hydra. An undercurrent of fear swept through the room as all those around the table were aware of the potential threat that Hydra posed. They knew where Helena was; they were already in danger.

Taking Helena’s hand in his, Steve rose from his seat, and the two of them chased after the guards. The others of the wedding party were not far behind. Short on time, they forewent the mounts and raced from the palace through the stables. Storming through the streets and avoiding the curious glances thrown their way by Manhattan’s citizens, the party eventually arrived at the gates. A quick call to the guards manning the gates, and the iron gate cranked open to let them out. Steve and Helena pushed through first, as she was the one sought by the stranger while he planned on protecting her, and the others waited before copying them.

Helena spotted the hooded figure, standing off to the side with a guard, attempting to calm down enough to share her message. During the ordeal, the hood fell away to reveal a woman desperately pleading, and Helena recognized her. Standing before her was none other than Eunice, the head maid attending to her during her stay in Hydra. When Eunice spotted her, she slipped out of the guard’s hold and sprinted toward Helena and Steve.

“Princess, I came as soon as I could. You are in grave danger!” Eunice exclaimed when she saw Helena, a wild look in her eyes. The others who were not present during the mission to Hydra did not recognize the woman. Helena knew her the best, seeing as she spent the most time in Eunice’s company. The Eunice she remembered was surprisingly optimistic and kindhearted for the soulless prison she worked in. The woman standing before her was not the same one she recalled. Could half a year’s time be so cruel to someone?

“Eunice, what do you mean?” Helena reached out to catch the stumbling woman, but Bucky’s reflexes were a tad faster than hers, and he helped to stabilize her enough to get back on her feet.

“Prince Rumlow knows you escaped to Manhattan. He is furious and intends on razing Manhattan to the ground, killing General Rogers in a public execution, and unspeakable horrors meant for you.” Eunice explained, borderline hysterical from the panic in her voice. Helena’s face drained of color, and she staggered backward into Steve’s waiting arms, wrapping around her tightly. She started to tremble and turned into his chest, her eyes burning with the threat of tears. Her worst fears were coming true and on what was to be the happiest day of her life.

Rumlow knew; he was going to kill her lover and, by extension, kill her too.

“A nasty storm is brewing straight ahead and right in our intended path,” Steve remarked while rubbing Helena’s back comfortingly. They knew the risks but chose to go through regardless. Rumlow would not have her back so long as there was breath in his lungs or life in his body. He growled upon thinking of the smugness the Hydrian prince must feel, knowing he could justify the slaughter of innocents for his own game. “We must be prepared for violence beyond the likes of what anyone has seen. Rumlow reached a point of no return, and he will not be content until all who oppose him lay dead, and our kingdom burn to ashes.”

“We must protect the people! This is all my fault,” Helena woefully cried, stricken by immense guilt for her selfishness. She endangered all the men, women, and children of Manhattan, blissfully going about their night with no realization of the danger looming over their heads or the death sentence she handed them with her choices. She felt equally culpable as Rumlow, no better than a spoiled, blood-hungry fearmongering brat.

“No, Helena, Rumlow planned this since the beginning. You were simply the excuse he chose and a convincing enough reason to launch renewed efforts to destroy Manhattan and her allies.” Natasha assured her, knowing plenty of Rumlow’s intent from her spies. The possibility of Rumlow sailing to the shores of Manhattan and waging an assault on The Golden City always seemed probable with his impulsivity and an unquenchable thirst for conquests and glory. Helena was not the origin of such an idea, but the best excuse he would ever have to take advantage of.

“General, what should we be prepared to do?” Sam questioned Steve, who fell awfully silent. The others turned to him and observed the stoic expression of their most exceptional soldier, but the incensed fire in his eyes told many tales of his hatred for Rumlow. The spoiled prince of Hydra could not help himself, could he?

“We call our allies and fortify the city. Rumlow will want to storm Manhattan.” Steve declared firmly, slipping into the General instead of Steve Rogers. It might be his wedding night and supposed to represent the beginning of his new chapter, but Rumlow poses an undeniable danger to the longevity of his marriage to the love of his life. There would be no running or hiding from the consequences of his choices, and he stood by his decisions, even now.

“How do you know?” Tony questioned, holding a shellshocked Pepper in his arms and desperately keeping his anxiety at bay. He knew that taking Helena posed a significant risk to the safety of his people, but he chose to grant her asylum. His first instinct was to search for a spy in their midst who reported back to Rumlow and Pierce, but something in his instincts told him that no spy would be found, or a leaker was not responsible for this turn of events.

“If I know Rumlow like I think I do, he will want to storm through the castles and take Helena back by force.” Steve’s face darkened at such a thought, and he tuned out the shocked gasps from the small wedding party. He turned to his Helena, crestfallen with a combination of guilt and disappointment from barely getting to celebrate their nuptials. Rumlow first robbed her of her home, then he stole her joy on what should have been the happiest moment of her life. Instead, she appeared ready to burst into tears, and the sadness did little to dull her divine beauty. Her face, a symbol of beauty incarnate, caused the launch of a thousand ships in her name and the reinvigoration of the war. Hydra would come knocking on Manhattan’s door, and Steve would be waiting for them. 


	11. The Call to Arms

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

The arrival of the Hydrian defector on Manhattan’s shores and the revelation which followed soured the wedding night for Steve and Helena. Deeply upset by what she perceived to be her “selfishness,” Helena quietly requested to retire early. She was no longer hungry enough to eat or in a good mood sufficient to finish what was supposed to be a night of celebration. Steve understood her decision, and he escorted her to their chambers, assisted her in undressing from the beautiful red gown, robbed of good use, and shared the bed with her. Although the mood of the evening transformed into a somber affair, Helena could never stay away from her husband. She curled into his side when he returned to the bed, newly undressed, and wrapped her body around him. His arm curled around her, and he felt relaxed with the warmth of her skin against his.

His sigh did not go unnoticed by Helena, who propped herself up on his elbow and took his face in. She studied him with downcast eyes, the blue tinted with an uncharacteristic dullness to them where a spark lived. She settled her free hand against his chest, and that drew his eyes down to meet hers.

“What is on your mind, darling?” Helena inquired from her side of the bed, and Steve hardly knew how to vocalize the frustration he felt about the turn of events. None of this was Helena’s fault, nor did he want her to think it was. He believed that he bore some of the blame for the compromising position Manhattan faced, but most of the responsibility landed squarely on Rumlow’s shoulders. He was the one who abducted Helena, and it was his unyielding desire to have her that escalated his pre-existing anger.

“Everything, from this moment on, is about to change. I can no longer take for granted the loyalty of my troops, not that I ever considered doing that before now. I am asking them to prepare for a confrontation that might forever alter the history of this kingdom; that is no light request. I find myself struggling to reconcile the call on my heart with what I ought to say and how I ought to say it. What I am asking, it is a lot. But I believe that I can convince my troops to fight so that peace might be ours. The sooner we end this war, the sooner they can lay down their swords. I never wished the fight to drag on so long, but when the other side refuses peace, there is little that can be done. When the options are fighting until there is not a single breath in your lungs or surrender without contesting your defeat, I do not know of anyone who would willingly roll over and abandon their people. No soldier I know would, and I hold myself to that standard and beyond.” Steve explained as best he could, feeling more like he was rambling than sorting through coherent, understandable concerns. He felt Helena tense beside him, and one look at her revealed a flash pang of guilt darkening her features in the already darkened bedroom. 

“What will this war cost you? What about the men who serve under you?” Helena questioned, knowing there was a human price attributed to war. It came in the form of soldiers’ bodies. Often, she heard Rumlow speak of his soldiers derogatorily and lowly. To him, they were not people. They were disposable objects to fling at his problems. She knew Steve was different, that he cared about his men. She cared about his men too. She cared that they might die so that she could live and love freely, a fact which weighed heavily on her heart. Behind the helms and the armor, there were men and women who had families that loved them. They deserved their children, siblings, spouses, or parents to survive.

“Even before you came along, the war we fought was for our lives. We refused to fall under Hydra control, and their alliances with the Wakandan insurgents and Sokovia leadership bolster their army into something we cannot ignore.” Steve rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache coming on from discussing policy in the wake of the bombshell. As much as he wished for some peace, he knew his position as General implied not a moment of rest. They were in the ninth year of the war, and perhaps such a reinvigoration might finally kill the fighting. The last nine years drained on him, Tony and Pepper, and the people of Manhattan. The people of Hydra were suffering the aftereffects of war, and those who remained unaffected were the rabble-rousers who prolonged the bloodshed for their amusement. He detested that man and all he stood for. Glancing down at Helena, intently listening to what he said, he knew that he should come clean. His motivation to fight, and perhaps that of his men, increased with her on the line. “However, the personal stakes in this war have changed for me. I risk losing everything should we fall. Our lives never stopped being on the line. The only thing that changed was that you entered my life, which gives me extra incentive to fight.”

“I see,” Helena replied, seemingly the answer she did not expect to hear from him. The war far preceded any involvement she had due to Eprana’s neutral stance. That is where her guilt lay. She had the luxury to standby along the sidelines of the war and stayed silent, per her father’s decree, while good men died. She knew that lamenting about what little that her country could have done without an army served no purpose, but she knew not else how to cope with the sudden guilt waging a war of its own within her. “For what it is worth, I never wish anyone to die for me. I understand that now is an inevitability, but I never wished it so.” She dejectedly added, and she quietly rolled onto her back. She laid by his side with some distance.

Not knowing what else to say, Steve and Helena lapsed into a silence that urged them to cave to the beckoning of sleep. Although, neither of them believed rest would come cooperatively that night. Those predictions proved to be painfully accurate. The night was spent occupied with restless sleep between the newlyweds.

They felt two worlds apart.

Steve wrestled with his inability to sleep, lying under the silk sheets that barely reached his abdomen and pressed coolness against bare skin. His mind raced with too many thoughts to open itself to sleep. Helena, on the other hand, found herself violently thrust between sleep and consciousness at the hands of nightmares. She would cry and scream when the nightmares came, met with Steve’s reassuring calls for her to wake up. It was around the third time where she gave up on attempting to sleep, and the two laid together in the darkness, silent as could be.

The first call of dawn came, and with it, a knock on their door. Helena, the most dressed of the two, answered it to see Natasha standing outside in the hall. She gave a sympathetic look when she noticed Helena’s dark circles and look of utter exhaustion. She assumed that the princess and Steve failed to sleep after the gut-wrenching news from the night prior.

“Tony asked me to get you. He managed to get ahold of King T’Challa and King Thor Odinson for an emergency conference. He would like you and the General to attend this meeting and speak with these leaders regarding Rumlow and what you know.” Natasha informed in a hushed tone to keep the information between them. The greater public had yet to find out about the new developments and the potential threat in Rumlow attempting to take The Golden City by force for the princess. Tony planned on keeping that way until a suitable strategy was worked out.

“Steve and I will be there at once,” Helena promised, and Natasha nodded, seeing that as an acceptable answer. She swiftly departed to rouse Bucky, Sam, and Wanda from their sleep. Helena closed the door behind her and turned around to face Steve, who was sitting up in their bed and studying her with an inquisitive glance. “Natasha. Tony has summoned us for a meeting with Manhattan’s allies right now.”

“Ah, say no more.” Steve pulled himself from the bed with a groan stifled behind the guise of a yawn and went to grab his tunic and armor. He needed to project strength, and that required armor. For Helena, she was not far behind and retrieved a simple gown from her drawers that would play to expectations and illustrate her as the graceful princess requesting their aid. The [blush tulle gown](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6f/71/03/6f7103996085037d727776fbfc7b832d.jpg) presented a delicate, simplistic pop of color for her, and she managed to do the small buttons by herself.

She waited patiently for Steve, seating herself at the edge of the bed, and watched him assemble the pieces of his armor. The silver-white armor and woolen cape the color of lapis lazuli suited him. She resisted the urge to apply cosmetics to her face during the wait, recognizing her ingrained habit from her stay in Hydra. So, she decided to comb out her hair, and Steve eventually linked their arms together as they departed for the meeting.

They walked across the Tower to a heavily guarded room that Steve referred to as “The War Room,” which Helena assumed acted as the hub for strategy meetings among the top military leadership. As expected, entering the room revealed mounting bookshelves, coat of arms, and a giant table with maps of the Seven Kingdoms sprawled across the top. Tony stood with Pepper on one end, Sam and Bucky on the other, Natasha in the middle, and Clint and Wanda off to the side. It appeared Steve and Helena were the last ones to arrive. On the other side of the table were two bronze podiums, pushed together but empty.

“Good, you made it. We can connect to T’Challa and Thor,” Tony declared, clapping his hands, and prepared to get to work. He glanced over at Wanda, signaling that he was ready for her. Wanda closed her eyes, and when they opened, red energy poured from them and her hands. She casually raised one glowing hand and swiped it to the side, making the two platforms glow bright red. The glows shaped themselves into figures with defined features. The connection was made, which meant King T’Challa and King Thor were able to hear. “Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

“Ah, Tony! What a surprise to hear from you this early. I thought you refused to rise before the sun did.” Thor cheekily greeted while seeing the room filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces staring back at him. Somehow, he appeared precisely how Helena expected: long hair, an outgoing grin, and a bulky figure that might come across intimidating to some. Tony gave a sarcastic chuckle, directed at Thor’s response.

“Thank you for the advanced notice, King Stark. Although the previous night does cut a little close for me,” T’Challa mused with the vague sense of amusement in his tone, sounding like a parent talking to their child. He exuded calm, wisdom, and the regal aura belonging to that of a king—he somewhat reminded Helena of her father.

“I apologize for the early hour, gentlemen. As you might have heard, Princess Helena vanished from Hydra after several months there, made to be a potential bride for Prince Rumlow. There were no clues as to her whereabouts. Well, she escaped and earned asylum here in Manhattan. However, we have learned that Rumlow knows of her escape, and we suspect he plans an attack on our soil. I thought about making a plea for your support in this battle but decided that I ought to allow Princess Helena to plead with you two. I would like to have her speak.” Tony explained, giving the shorthanded version of events, and drawing intrigued glances from the two other monarchs. He stepped back, and Helena, terrified from being put on the spot, shyly stepped forward.

“King T’Challa and King Thor, might I say it is an honor to meet you two. The circumstances of this meeting are less than ideal, but I humbly come before you with a request. I was taken from my home, snatched away from everything I loved dear by a madman drunk on the taste of power and desire for what he believed he deserved. I spent months wilting underneath his cruelty, and it pained me to watch his people suffer while he indulged himself. I managed to smuggle myself from the castle of horrors and onto the Manhattan envoy ship during peace talks. Manhattan graciously took me in, and I have found a second home here. I earned friendships, family, and even love. Now, this second home of mine is in danger. You have personal stakes in this war. I am aware that your kingdoms of Wakanda and Asgard have their pressing issues, yes. I firmly believe that this is the moment to stop Rumlow, Pierce, Hydra, and their allies dead in their tracks to end this war. I know what I am asking is momentous and even demanding, presumptuous if you will. However, I believe that I have something worth fighting for and that I would rather die than lose it. Please understand that everything I did was for my people, but that I owed my people more than cowardly compliance. I need your help.” Helena, pouring out her heart to these royal strangers, begged for their sympathy with enough to convince them to help. She clasped her hands together and willed the tears brimming in her eyes to stay back. She was so terrified about the danger and knew that putting on a brave face was the right thing to do. They needed to see her fear, her hurt, and the wounds she carried from what she went through. The room went eerily silent while she spoke, and everyone waited with bated breath for the end. 

“Your plea has moved me, Princess Helena. I shall pledge myself and several of my finest warriors to the battle. We shall depart from Asgard at once!” Thor exclaimed, and his grand grin felt infectious to Helena, who smiled at him. He clapped his hands together thunderously, and his eyes glowed with the power of the stormy skies. “In my stead, I nominate Valkyrie to rule Asgard while I am away. I trust she shall keep the kingdom safe, and any potential enemies will run in the opposite direction. None wish for an early voyage to Hel by her hand.” His declaration caused all eyes to turn toward to T’Challa, wanting to see where he stood.

“Although I cannot join you physically during this battle, I shall send some of my finest fighters as compensation until I can get there. I wish you all the luck in this endeavor, Princess Helena. You are valiant in protecting your people, and I am honored to lend assistance however I can.” T’Challa commented, giving Helena a smile. He understood duty to one’s people and sacrifices, which helped him to feel connected to the princess. A ruler would do anything for their people; he and she lived by that creed. That and Wakanda never failed to help a neighbor in need.

“Great, thank you for the meeting, gentlemen,” Tony interjected, quite satisfied with the pledge of support from both allies. T’Challa nodded, and Thor waved excitedly, two vastly different reactions from two equally powerful kings. With their goodbyes, Wanda waved her hands and closed off the connection. The images of T’Challa and Thor vanished, and the pedestals were empty once more. The meeting was a success, and all those in the room were delighted by the outcome. None more so than Steve and Helena, who turned to each other.

“I cannot believe I managed to convince them!” Helena exclaimed joyfully, and she leaped into Steve’s waiting arms, exuberantly weightless when he spun her around. A laugh escaped her, and it felt so good to free herself from the chains of fear. Steve set her down in front of him, and the couple was thrilled by the prospect of their allies coming to fight by their side.

“You are a fountain of good fortune, my love. I know these times are uncertain, and that despair comes far too easy, but we have something strong than Rumlow could ever fathom. Our love, blessed by the Pantheon and written in the scroll of Fate, stands taller than all challenges it might face. I believe in us, above all other mortal forces in the Seven Kingdoms.” Steve whispered to her, seeking to provide some comfort after the series of misfortune befalling them on what was supposed to be joyful times.

“You are right,” Helena cupped Steve’s face between her hands and examined his classically handsome features from his striking eyes down to his defined jawline. Somehow her husband grew more handsome by the day. She smiled, making the corners of her eyes and nose crinkle so adorably, while remarking, “You are so wise.”

“Heh, I try my best.” Steve chuckled sheepishly while shrugging off his wife’s eager, praising compliments. Her fingers quickly raked through his hair, which made him shake his head and ruffle his own hair. Helena’s eyes dropped down to his lips, but she forced herself to glance away. While Steve had his duties as General, she had responsibilities of her own.

“There is something that I need to do. If you require my presence, I shall be in the bedroom.” Helena informed Steve, brushing off his armor.

“Should I give you space as not to disturb?” Steve questioned, seeing as he would be busy for the morning and into the early afternoon, but he planned to retire to their chambers during the afternoon for some peace and quiet should all go according to plan. He would not want to bother her if she was conducting something important.

“You could never disturb me. But if you do come in, please be as quiet as possible.” Helena suggested, and she brushed her thumb across his cheek sweetly, marking him with a parting caress before she dropped her hands from him. He had more meetings to attend with his highest-ranking subordinates, intel with Natasha and Clint, and breaking the news to his shoulders. Steve’s job required immense discipline, patience, and bravery—all things Helena believed to be his best attributes. Steve watched Helena spin on her heel and gracefully saunter from the throne room, disappearing out through the double doors with the dedication of a woman on a mission.

Helena needed to reach someone important, which meant she planned on taking a visit to the other side. To the Anteia, she would go.


	12. Father and Daughter Reunited

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Helena was frustrated.

Sprawled out across her bed in her silken chemise with her hair fanned out in a halo against the nearest pillow she stole from the pile, she suppressed an exasperated sigh and kept her eyes closed. She had locked herself away in her and Steve’s bedroom through the entire day with the hopes of connecting to the Anteia. She had an urgent message to send across the Seven Kingdoms, and this seemed the best way to do it, although it was a shot in the dark. The Anteia was not a place she simply could visit without permission, nor could she reach through to it without divine help.

She spent hours upon hours praying to any of the Pantheon who might hear her. She alternated between prayer and bridging a connection, which resulted in all the attempts of the later failed. Each thwarted attempt left her with a gnawing ball of stress settled in her stomach and deterred her appetite.

_As silent as the night, Steve came into the room after his back to back meetings to see Helena, face buried in the bed, and the pillow forcefully covering her head. He opened his mouth to inquire as to what was happening, but Helena stopped him when she removed the pillow and rolled over onto her back. She sighed and rubbed at her face._

_“This is not working. My attempts to connect to the Pantheon are falling painfully short. They seem particularly avoidant this day, and I require their assistance to connect to-” Helena sat herself up and glanced at her husband, hoping he had a better day than she. Hours wasted away in the solitude of their chambers and wrestling with the pointed silence of the heavens put a damper on her good mood from the morning. How optimistic should she feel about gaining allies in the fight against Rumlow when the Pantheon kept discouragingly silent? Without the gods on their side, Fate was guaranteed to turn against them._

_Steve took in the weary expression of his wife, approaching the edge of the bed and seating himself beside her. No words needed before the two reached out and linked hands, curling their fingers together. If anything, the gesture meant well but fell slightly short of what Helena needed. She needed an answer from her gods before fear consumed her heart. Helena could not accept the outcome that her faith turned its back on her, even when she never gave up hope._

_“The way I see things,” Steve’s voice prompted Helena to draw her eyes from her lap and settle onto him beside her. “You know that they, the gods, have their reasons. From what you told me, they are subject to the same restrictiveness that mortals are—maybe even to a higher degree than us. If Fate determined us as destined to be together, I must believe that the odds lay in our favor. The Pantheon is still there and perhaps biding their time. The answers will come, my love.” Steve assured her with confidence and security that Helena desperately craved to hear._

Helena carried Steve’s words with her through the rest of the day, and his optimistic outlook spurred a renewed effort from the princess. One benefit came in faith unshaken, and Helena believing that the timing of the Pantheon knew better than she when support was needed.

She forced herself to walk away after a point, fetching something to eat from the kitchens. That was how she found herself sitting at the edge of the Tower’s gardens holding a fresh and juicy peach in her hands and basking in the sunlight of the late afternoon. She tenderly bit into the peach, and some juice rolled down from the corner of her lips. She delicately wiped the remnants from her chin, savoring the sweetness of the fruit. Something in the quiet gardens that canceled all the noise of the city outside of the Tower soothed her. She loved being around people, but sometimes she needed a moment of quiet to mull over her thoughts. She processed her feelings, her guilt and sadness and rage over the impending battle, with the intent of forgiveness on her heart. If she could forgive herself for making the decisions that held her best interest in mind, she might get past the obstacles she set in her path.

She sat with her eyes on the hedge walls blooming with new life in the summer roses, vibrant pops of color against the block of green. Manhattan cultivated so much life, and she promised that she would not allow anything to destroy this second home of hers. That meant she owed the people of Manhattan her best efforts and whatever she could give during this uncertain time. She would; that was a promise she had no intention of breaking.

She spent hours in the fresh air until dinnertime rolled around, finding strength for herself and the other relying on her to pull through. More than ever, she needed to get the message across the sea to the man who needed it the most. She joined the others for dinner, and gracefully addressed their inquisitive looks without using a single word; her serene smile was enough.

That night, she laid in bed with Steve. He had fallen asleep quite fast, given that his day was spent from sunrise to sundown with strategic planning. He wrapped her in his embrace, his chest pressing into her back, and the sound of his even breathing pushing forth from his lips. It was here that Helena decided to try again at connecting to the other side.

So, she closed her eyes and exhaled softly to center herself. Exhaustion, waiting in the wings, swooped over her and pulled her into the embrace of darkness. She tumbled down the spiral of darkness in weightlessness that no longer frightened her when she closed her eyes. Then, she was standing at the bank of that beautiful sky-colored lake in the hues of soft pastels. She relished the eventual success and thanked the Pantheon for hearing her prayer. She felt the weak breeze brush against her exposed skin and the chemise she wore rumpled against her skin. The white sands of the bank, warm under her feet, and the aroma of the Epranan shores invaded her senses elicited the image of the one she waited for. Had a year truly passed where it felt like an eternity? Would he recognize his pride and joy at all? All these questions would stay unsolved until someone arrived.

“Helena,” Her name came to her from a voice she missed with all her heart, and she turned hopefully over her shoulder. Standing underneath the ivory archways was her father, his face worn and hair sporting more grey than she remembered. He stared at her with the same shellshock of the soldier standing amid a chaotic battlefield. He could not believe his eyes. The woman standing before him, glowing and looking more matured than he recalled, mirrored his shock, but hers was short-lived. He was there.

“Papa,” Helena whispered, and before she realized it, she was running toward him. His arms open to her, and his face scrunched up with the overwhelming urge to crumble into tears when greeting his daughter. She crashed into his chest, and he encircled his arms around her, not wanting to let her go. The father and daughter chose to observe the silence and just be in the moment with the one they cherished and missed. Helena sniffled into his chest, nearly in tears.

“How did you reach Manhattan?” Alexander questioned, holding his daughter out at arm’s length to take her in. He heard about her vanishing from Hydra and feared the worst of his nightmares came true. He spent several months grieving his only daughter, in the dark with no answers. But the divine visit of the All-Father, the king of the Pantheon, assured him that Helena was alive. He needed to see it for himself.

“I relied on my wits and people’s poor assumptions, but the details are not important,” Helena remarked, waving off the irrelevant questions. She would explain all when there was time and in person. Her father deserved that much from her. She figured that she should ease his concerns, and knowing her father, he would want to know how she was doing. “I am respected and well taken care of in Manhattan. Steve- Er, the people there are simply marvelous.” She stammered and nearly choked on her own words, hoping that she might smooth over her slip of the tongue. She wished to speak with her father about Steve, in person preferably. However, she could never fool her father. He was young and in love once, and he knew his daughter. So, she found love during such a dark time. He wished her nothing but blessings for her and her beloved.

“Is he kind to you?” Alexander inquired calmly, not angered or persistent in pushing answers from his daughter, typically shy and not one for romances. He assumed that the Pantheon guided her to this Steve character and hoped that he treated her like she deserved to be treated.

“More than kind.” Helena came clean about it and openly blushed when thinking about Steve. The memory that came to mind was from the morning they first kissed under the sunrise. Helena pushed some hair back from her face sheepishly and sighed, “He is noble, just, kind, and protective. He is the best man I have ever known, Papa.”

“Then, that is all that matters. So, what brings you to call me here?” Alexander gestured to the beautiful paradise of the Anteia. In all his life, he never visited this place, and his eyes basked in the glory of such a divine view.

“War is coming, Papa. I request that you, for your safety and the safety of the Epranan people, summon the wards to protect you. Nothing can penetrate those, and the Pantheon becomes personally responsible for the protection of the kingdom. Eprana, without an army, would become a prime target for Rumlow’s rage and the perfect opportunity to exact revenge for my transgressions.” Helena declared, and her father gave her a look of protest, which she counteracted with an unmoved cross of her arms. There would be no debate. Her father knew she was acting in the best interest of the people.

“What of you, Helena?” Alexander questioned, knowing that traveling from Manhattan was rife with dangers and that bringing the walls down to put back up was a difficult task. There was no guarantee that Helena would make it to shore, let alone safely stay behind the walls.

“I plan to stay in Manhattan until Rumlow is apprehended. I do intend to return to Eprana when I am safe to do so.” Helena informed, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them reassuringly. That was a promise that she would return to the home she loved dearly once again, a triumphant return for the princess.

“Helena, please promise me that you shall stay out of trouble as best you can. Soldiers are dangerous and will not hold back simply because you are beautiful.” Alexander requested, seeing he would not be able to sway Helena’s decisions. He hoped that she might listen to his urging for her caution.

“I wish I could promise you that, Papa.” Helena glanced away, knowing that she planned on aiding the effort with what little she could offer. Bringing morale to those unable to fight and staying among their ranks would make the most sense for her.

“If you feel the calling on your heart to fight, my daughter, then fight with your life. Helena, you must remember that you hold far greater power than anyone in this world realizes. You have the mark of the Pantheon on your soul, endowing you with abilities beyond what can be dreamt. You are every Hydrian soldier’s worst nightmare in a heavenly disguise. But you must understand that you make a choice when you pick up the sword and answer the call of battle.” Alexander could not shake the sinking feeling that his daughter would shed her fears and embrace the destiny that she was always meant for. The one he ran away from so that the world might be better, but the one she might embrace to save the world from the brink of destruction.

“I know. I do not wish to lose control.” Helena whimpered anxiously when thinking about the potential for death and destruction promised by taking a weapon into her hands. She swore an oath to her father that she would only revert to force should no other option present itself. Did her father believe it would come to such lows?

“Then you must trust in your spirit to harness that power. There is ichor in your veins, Helena. You are a Nepheros. Never forget that.” Alexander stated, uncharacteristically firm with Helena, He did not wish to be, but he knew that such times required a level head. His daughter would not want to stand back from the danger when she watched her lover march off to war, assuming that he was a soldier. She would like to fight, and she could, knowing she held power unimaginable to the mortal mind. Helena, although overwhelmed, nodded in agreement with her father. Alexander, still holding his daughter’s hands, bowed his head. Helena mimicked him as she knew prayer was coming. “All-Father and the great Pantheon, blessed be your foresight and strength and sage wisdom. I pray that you shower your daughter, Helena Emmeline Nepheros, with divine protection and bravery to confront the dangers awaiting her. For she is of your greatness, and no weapon meant to harm shall pierce through her armor, emboldened by the Guardianship. In your name, we exalt the greatness of Eprana.” Alexander’s prayer closed, and Helena glanced up at her father, wanting to see his face before the separation came, and they returned to being a world away from each other.

“I can feel the tether weakening. Our time here is ending. Goodbye, Papa, I shall see you soon-” Helena whispered and her father, before she could fade away, pulled her into another hug. Black seeped into her vision. Helena’s eyes flew open, and she restlessly pushed herself up to a seated position in the darkened room. The candle that flickered by the bedside when she was last awake extinguished itself and plunged the room into the night. Helena’s abrupt movements roused Steve from his light sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes.

“My love, is everything okay?” Steve found himself on the receiving end of a wordless, tight hug, which he returned without question. Helena buried her face into his shoulder, and Steve felt the soft caresses of something wet. He realized they were tears; lifting Helena’s head revealed her cheeks to be damp with tear tracks. He immediately brushed the tears on her cheeks away with the pad of his thumb. Helena hiccupped, and she nearly laughed from all the emotions of seeing her father again. 

“My father got the message. He will be safe. May the Pantheon protect him… and us,” Helena revealed, and Steve understood that these were tears of joy, of longing from seeing her father, and of releasing some guilt from her decision to submit to Rumlow. Out of all the news he heard that day, that was the best.

“They will. As for us, Hydra must prepare themselves for a battle. We of Manhattan do not surrender, nor do we go quietly into the night as a coward might. It has been decided that we shall fight until victory is ours or experience our last breath before we submit.” Steve reminded sternly, wanting to demonstrate confidence in their success. He needed Helena to believe that they could survive this and that they would, undoubtedly. “I made a promise on our wedding day, and that is one of dedication. I plan to be your husband for a long time, so long as Fate allows me to be yours.”


	13. Omens Come In Threes

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

War preparations occupied Manhattan swiftly, and the kingdom prepared for the attack they suspected would eventually come. The average subject of Manhattan did not dwell on the war efforts during their daily lives but make no mistake in classifying their silence for ignorance. Manhattanites were highly involved in the twist and turns of the Manhattan-Hydra war and tangentially related skirmishes across the Seven Kingdoms. The people of Manhattan held faith in their leadership, especially in General Rogers’ unparalleled victory record.

When Tony broke the news to the subjects of the kingdom, there was an initial shock as on par for an announcement. However, Manhattanites quickly embraced precautionary measures and offered contributions. All the kingdom held a vested interest in ending the longstanding war, having entered the ninth year. Those who were able and of age enlisted into the military, men and women alike from the social elite and the slums and everything in between. The numbers of those who joined swelled in the short span of two months’ time that Steve hardly knew what to do with his forces. The new influx of troops required proper training and, for that, Tony opened the castle and training grounds to the most recent among the ranks and those veterans returning to their posts.

The open courtyard of the Tower was filled by rows of soldiers in formation, lined up shoulder to shoulder and dressed in light armor. All stood at the position of attention and facing forward, where Steve and other military leaders gathered in a small group. Bucky and Sam flanked immediately behind Steve as his second in commands and strategic partners. Lacing his hands behind his back, Steve strolled through the rows of the soldiers and inspected the faces of the men and women staring straight ahead. He planned on introducing himself to each and every soldier at some point, for none of his men who fought beside him deserved to fall as an unknown. They were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for something greater than themselves, which meant they deserved the courtesy of being recognized through the simple act of learning a name.

That distinction and respect for his troops set Steve above the rest. The meticulous care he took in treating his men with dignity and respect is what established him in the highest esteem of current and previous military leaders in Manhattan’s history. He refused to treat his men as disposable, and that earned him the loyalty, which convinced them to follow General Rogers into the jaws of death. 

“Soldiers, welcome to the training grounds! You know who I am. Today you have chosen to embark on a journey of service to your country in the highest regard, and your decision is one of great respect. On behalf of King Anthony Stark of Manhattan, your sacrifices to your nation shall not go uncompensated or forgotten. We are in the middle of a war, the likes of which are far from past conflicts. Although unconfirmed as of this moment, Hydrian forces might target the capital, and we shall defend our home with all our might. When the moment of judgment comes, it might be one of you who emerges the hero of the battle. Your kingdom has deferred to you in her time of need. Will you answer the call? Will you fight for those you love? If the response is yes, then you have chosen the path of a warrior.” Steve declared, addressing the soldiers old and new standing before him. His words stirred confidence in all he spoke to, and that was the real talent of General Steve Rogers. He had a way of rallying people to fight for the common good with all their hearts. 

“Here, here!” The troops chanted in raucous unison, raising their standard-issued blades into the air with a hefty cheer. Steve’s lips resisted a smile as he needed to project strength and aloofness during training. On duty, he exemplified what a soldier should be.

On a balcony overlooking the courtyard, Helena observed her husband in action as the General she heard so much about through recollections of stories from Bucky, Sam, or Natasha and general palace gossip. She did take some delight in casually entering a room and the speediness at which the maids hushed their conversation. The innocent act did not fool her, but she never called the maids out for gossiping on the job. They had their guilty pleasures as she did. Wrapped in a vision of a [dress](https://d16bgn4qseot5f.cloudfront.net/resized/images/Collections/2018-19-aw-couture/942/PSAW1914_a28930b60decd87861cb5491ed347d73_a3c1abc90d069d95efc553a494d52ce7.jpg), pale blue chiffon, and complemented by a thigh-high slit, she was a sight to behold. The dress choice was suggested by Pepper and Natasha, and she realized the decision behind it.

She was to remind the soldiers who and what they were fighting for. Helena, unintentionally, became the face of the war. She was the symbol created to champion the Manhattanite soldiers to victory for her glory and protection, but what she represented most of all. Princess Helena stood for their way of life in a land of opportunity, wealth, and power. She was the embodiment of the ideal, and therefore, soldiers found themselves willing to die for the beauty whose face launched a thousand ships.

“By the All-Father,” She breathed out when she watched Steve hold his hand out toward Sam for a sword, and Sam supplied him with the blade. He made a joke that Helena missed from the outbreak of whispers, but she did catch Steve’s amused snort and how he skillfully twirled his sword. Another soldier, dressed in full armor and armed with a sword for the equal measure, slipped from the crowd and the soldiers in line stepped backward to free up space. They understood that meant the General planned for a demonstration, which could be considered a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

Helena leaned forward on the railing, an interest sparked when Steve and the unnamed soldier started inching toward each other. Then, they lunged forward, and the battle began with frightening intensity and breathtaking speed. Her eyes, keenly attuned to Steve, flitted between plucking out stunned reactions from the crowd and focusing on her husband’s martial skills on display for those intending to learn from him. His form was impeccable, focus impenetrable. Even though the distance, her vantage point illuminated his narrowed eyes, and she could see him plotting out his next five moves. Although she was no soldier by trade, she absorbed knowledge espoused from her husband and his contemporaries during strategic meetings. She insisted on holding a place within the room, and she was granted the right to observe the proceedings. It became clear to her, through several attended meetings, that was where Steve was in his element. “He is quite skilled at this.”

The battle grew far more interesting when Sam threw Steve a round, gleaming shield, and Steve effortlessly snatched it out of the air. During that time, another heavily armored soldier with an axe entered the fray. The crowd gasped to witness General Rogers fighting both opponents at the same time, maintaining the upper hand with stunning efficacy. Many of Manhattan heard exploits of their General, but seeing them in person was otherworldly.

The same experience those of the new soldiers was felt by Helena, still observing from her perch. Although Helena could clearly see Steve’s expertise in combat, a gnawing sense of worry blossomed in her abdomen, and the severity sickened her. She wanted to be optimistic about their chances. Manhattan had the numbers advantage, but Rumlow would not stop until he got what he wanted. Fate was never so straightforward, never so kind without the presence of suffering first. She prayed from the bottom of her heart that Fate would not be so cruel. It would kill her if something happened to Steve, faster than any sword or any poison.

When turning away from the battle down below, Helena felt the undeniable presence of powerful auras that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand straight. She sighed and tilted her neck to the side, feeling a relieving crack echo. She had a divine visitor.

“Dearest Helena,” The voice of the All-Mother, queen of the Pantheon, echoed from behind her, and Helena’s shoulders squared off. She had not expected visitors of divine caliber, nor did she expect that the royal equivalent of the gods. She turned around to find a surprise. 

“All-Mother- and Nixtia and Divella!” Helena yelped when she realized that the All-Mother was not alone. Her face turned ashen when seeing the three goddesses staring at her because she knew that omens came in threes, and her luck lately suggested that nothing good came from warnings like these. She went to curtsy, but the All-Mother gently raised her hand to stop her from fretting.

“Our visitation with you is limited, my child. However, we wish to ease your fears.” All-Mother informed her, and therefore, she need not worry about formalities. She and the others heard the prayers of Eprana’s daughter and her cries for those who might lose their lives and the damage this war inflicted. They sought to help her.

“Can you tell me if we win the battle?” Helena inquired without hesitation, casting her glances over to the side of the balcony to the troops still going down below in the courtyard. She heard the metallic clangs and cheers rising from the chatter. She knew that everything seemed fine for now, but that the sound of blades clashing would mean something entirely different come Hydrian landfall on Manhattan soil. She wanted to bring some relief to those diligently prepping that the battle might still hold in their favor.

“Unfortunately, no,” Divella solemnly shook her head, and Helena frowned, figuring that she might receive a disappointing response. She sighed and pushed back her loose hair out of her face, not wanting to spurn the help she might get. The goddesses came for a reason; she needed to find out why. But while they were here, she thought she might call in a favor to her advantage.

“Then, I humbly request your blessings so that we might have a fighting chance.” Helena requested to the three goddesses politely yet powerfully like the royalty she was.

“Very well,” Nixtia stepped out of the triad first to approach Helena, holding the princess at arm’s length, and studying her under sharp eyes. She smelled fear, and that was unacceptable; Helena knew that she should be the one feared and not the one afraid. She could wipe out the entire courtyard of soldiers below if she wanted to, but she spent too long afraid to harm people even if they deserved it. “Helena, there is a whisper in your mind to fight and you know that she lives inside of you. Open yourself to her, and she will gift you the skills of the hundreds of warriors that came before you. They shall be yours. Thousands of years studying the blade and magic of undefeatable nature at your fingertips. You are no mortal, and it is time you stop hiding from it.”

“You may be right, Nixtia.” Helena conceded quietly, knowing that she was hiding from something that could turn the tide of the war. She could have turned the tide years ago but abstained from it. She paid the price with her guilt now.

“Listen to your heart. It shall not steer you wrong as it steered you to General Rogers,” Divella reminded kindly, and such a reassurance gave Helena much to think about. Her heart was conflicted, but she knew which decision might win. Was she willing to dirty her hands to protect what she loved?

“I bless thou under my divine hand. Thine destiny is written of the blood coursing through thy veins, the blood of a warrior. Victory shall be thine and delivered to thee with the swiftness of sword, the sturdiness of shield, and resolve of thy spirit. Blessed are the chosen of the Pantheon for they will never cower, never waver, never surrender so long as there is breath in thine lungs. Unam gloria de theón!” Nixtia chanted in a low, guttural tone, and the indescribable surge of power arched off Divella’s fingers and shot through Helena’s body. Warmth careened through her body that simmered with blistering heat, and her eyes flickered into gold as Nixtia stepped away.

“Come here,” Divella held her hands out to Helena, and the two friends linked hands, the warmth of their hearts flowing through the connection. Divella’s presence calmed Helena down while the scent of cherry blossoms overtook her. Divella’s ever-changing form smiled sadly at the princess, who she could sense was under duress from the impending storm, and she soothingly remarked, “I can only do so much. But I am giving you a blessing for your marriage and a reminder that the love and kindness in your heart are stronger than the hatred in Rumlow’s. Love shall win this battle, never hate or revenge.” Divella stepped back, and that left space for the All-Mother to conduct the final prayer over the princess. 

“On my authority, as Queen of the Pantheon, I grant you the grace and dignity befitting your lineage and station. You, Princess Helena Emmeline Nepheros the Divine, shall receive strength and courage of the Pantheon behind you. Your power was given to you by us and by Fate, which means it is intended for you to embrace. The Pantheon stands behind you and whatever you chose to do.” The All-Mother whispered over Helena, and her nurturing tone made the princess feel much like the wonderstruck child who first met the Pantheon in all their glory. She was destined for great things, they told her all those years ago. She merely hoped that her supposedly great legacy was not marred by the tragedy launched in her name. With her blessing finished, she stepped back to her place between Nixtia and Divella. The three vanished from sight, leaving Helena alone and with a new sense of resolve. She heard the crowd cheer, likely for her husband winning the sparring match, and something in her lingered on the words left behind by the three goddesses who visited her during this time of need.

She was no mortal, and she needed to start acting like it, which began with the decision that she refused to hide. She would sway the battle when the time came, with whatever she had within her.


	14. The Most Wicked Game

_Triskelion, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Across the Midgardian Sea, as Manhattan forged ahead with the wartime preparations, Hydra was making strategic moves. Seeing as the revelation of Princess Helena conspiring with Manhattan and betraying Rumlow constituted an immoral attack, all parties of the Hydrian alliance must gather to discuss the appropriate course of retaliatory action. Of all the egregious crimes Manhattan committed against them and their people, most of the parties involved determined that the runaway princess and her “breaking” of the oath she swore as the worst. Therefore, those of the alliance felt inclined to travel to Hydra and discuss their next strategy in person. The war was reaching a fever pitch, and direct correspondence would no longer do it. The leaders of Sokovia, Vormir, the Wakandan Insurgents, and Hydra were no fools; they knew they were losing the war and were desperate to regain momentum. So, the various forces of evils sailed to Hydra for a summit to discuss their next moves.

Pierce and Rumlow stood side by side, not speaking to one another as they waited for their guests to reach the throne room for their meeting. Their expected guests included Sokovia’s dictator Ultron, the leader of the Wakandan insurgents in Killmonger, and a collective from Vormir, including their shaman king and his daughter.

The double doors of the room opened, and the processional of allies entered, staring with Ultron. Their body was an uncomfortably humanoid shape, with wires for sinew and metal for the skin while their eyes glowed a deep red. Automatons were rarities in the Seven Kingdoms, and none were more feared than Ultron. They marched up to the table set out by palace staff and chose the first available seat, pulling out the chair. They stared at Pierce and Rumlow, with the latter shifting underneath the stare of the automaton.

Then, three cloaked figures walked through the open doors. The two figures on the sides lowered their hoods to reveal two beautiful women, one familiar and one unknown, while the center figure kept their hood on. Rumlow hummed interestedly when he came face to face with Vianna, the stranger on his balcony who set this meeting in motion when she showed him Helena’s true nature.

“Well, well, Vianna. What a pleasure it is to see you again.” Rumlow’s semi-coquettish comment earned him an unimpressed roll of Vianna’s eyes and crossed arms over her chest. She tempered back a glare as she did not want to show the petulant prince that he got under her skin, for she assumed that would gleefully rile him further into disrespecting her.

“I suggest you speak to her with more respect-” Her companion snarled, and the black markings on her face indicated that she was of the warrior class. Vormir sectioned off its people into classes based on their aptitudes. Two were soldiers and magic-user, which were among the highest castes underneath royalty. Vianna glanced over at her bodyguard with a half-smile, thanking the forces that be that she convinced her father to let Bethany come along.

“Thank you, Beth,” Vianna hummed pointedly, and she alongside Beth and her father, Grimsbane of Vormir, seated themselves together at the table. Her father remained hidden in the shadows, and rumor described that no one had seen under his hood for his face would forever scar all those who gazed upon it. He was the master of mysticism, a lord of the dark arts, and a practitioner of black magic.

Last of the group to arrive came in the form of Erik Killmonger, the leader of the Wakandan resistance and the alleged rightful heir to the Wakandan throne. Wearing the full armor of the copied Black Panther suit he modeled off his cousin’s invention and armed with a confidence that permeated through each step, Killmonger sauntered into the room and greeted Pierce but not Rumlow. Pierce was someone he held some level of respect for, but nowhere did he care for Rumlow and his entitled attitude. He slipped into the last chair, and with his presence, the meeting could finally start. 

“Greetings to you all. Let me thank you for making the trip to Hydra with such urgency and temporarily leaving your posts during the most important war of our lifetimes.” Pierce remarked diplomatically, carefully dancing around his words to sound measured in his delivery. However, there was no need for him to deny the characteristic coldness belonging to him as all those in attendance knew Alexander Pierce for the kind of man he was. He gave what appeared to be a smile that fell just short of reaching his eyes and gestured out, “As you know, you have been called here to discuss the matter of Princess Helena. You have all heard that she allied herself with the Manhattanites and, therefore, has declared another alliance for Manhattan. This action not only disrespects my son and I but disrupts the balance of forces among the Seven Kingdoms. Her actions no longer make Eprana a neutral body in this war. I would like to open the motion to agree upon some form of retaliatory action against the princess, General Rogers, King Stark, and our mutual foe in Manhattan as a whole.”

“Not to point out the obvious,” Ultron hummed mechanically, and their red eyes flickered with what the other occupants of the table could only describe as boredom from the eerily human response coming from the automaton. He gestured jerkily in the air, and Ultron could not believe the instinct did not reach these humans at once. “But if we wish to punish Helena for her disobedience, then perhaps we should destroy her homeland? Eprana has no army or way to defend itself against invading forces.”

“If only it were that simple, seeing as my son swore an oath that Eprana would be left unharmed,” Pierce mentioned and shot a glare sideways at Rumlow, who appeared on the verge of either pouting like a child over a toy or snapping out of anger. His sullen attitude became apparent to those at the table, and many were not surprised that the prince had been so carelessly duped into binding his hands.

“You mean to tell me you believe in all that god mumbo jumbo?” Killmonger questioned with an incredulous smirk. He heard of the polytheistic beliefs that Epranian people held, but he lived in a world where no gods existed. People were the makers of their own destiny and had nothing to do with the influence of any such gods.

“Make no mistake, the Pantheon is as real as you and I. They do not take lightly to insults or broken oaths. However, even if Prince Rumlow made no such oath, there lies another problem that would keep Eprana from falling.” Bethany respectfully chided those around the table, trying to keep in her place while informing those around the table as to Eprana’s hidden defense system as she was born and raised there as a child.

“Let me show you what she means,” Vianna held up her flat palms facing the ceiling, and the fog arched off her fingers into a shape. The blank slate transformed into a visible image of Eprana, looking ordinary. Then, the wavering space around the island warped as light shot out over the island and formed into a gold-colored, see-through dome. The energy pulsed and glimmered faintly over the island before disappearing.

“What the hell are those?” Killmonger leaned forward, and the rest of the table could not draw their eyes away from the shimmering golden dome covering the island. None at the table had seen anything like it, and some wondered if the Epranians were secretly engineering magically-enhance weaponry and defense systems, which would violate the peace accords of the Seven Kingdoms.

“These are known as Nixtia’s Shield, named for the Epranan goddess of warriors, and they serve as impenetrable defenses for the island. Eprana’s legacy is deeply rooted in magic and mysticism as the direct antithesis of Vormir. But unlike Vormir, Eprana sacrificed a standing army in a vow of peace. As a result, the powers of the Pantheon, or their worshiped gods, can be invoked to protect them from outside threats… say a marching army, for example?” Grimsbane informed wisely, and his voice creaked out from behind the shadow of his hood. The eerie warning set all those with rationality and some impulse control around the table on edge. 

“As fascinating as this whole lecture is, I have to ask, so what? They have magic barriers up. So what?” Rumlow interjected from his side of the table, and him talking down to Grimsbane, a king in his own right, did not translate well with those sitting at the table. Although they all hated Manhattan enough to destroy it, working with the insufferable prince irked their patience. He acted like he sat at a table of inferiors where he was the weakest link.

“-Meaning attacking Eprana is out of the picture, unfortunately impossible with the wards up. Only the Pantheon holds magic strong enough to dismantle the Shield. Unless you are insistent of waging a futile drain on our limited resources, mounting such an attack would be ridiculous.” Vianna scoffed derisively, her comment directed at Rumlow and what she perceived to be his arrogant demeanor. He thought that he knew better when he did not, which would be his shortcoming when competing against his rival in General Rogers. There came some grumbles from around the table as the easiest target was effectively deemed out of the realm of possibility.

“Then we move our target elsewhere. Eprana is not the only way to make a statement.” Ultron suggested indifferently as, for them, the chosen target ultimately did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Their target needed to be of strategic importance and vulnerable enough to launch a potential upset victory. Otherwise, the details hardly mattered. “All I suggest is that we do not repeat the mistake of setting our sights on Asgard. Our recent attempts to capture Asgard ended in monumental failure. Another go at the city might destroy the faith of our collective forces in the goals we share.”

“Man, do not get me started on the situation in Wakanda. My cousin has managed to keep my forces within our already conquered territory, and the current state faces gridlock. Pouring our resources there would encourage Asgardian and Manhattanite troops to come our way, and we would lose the battle and potentially the war.” Killmonger shook his head disappointedly, and another target removed from the list did little to appease Rumlow’s growing impatience. He wanted somewhere to fight where he could meet General Rogers in combat and end the bane of his existence once and for all.

“If I may, gentlemen, the solution seems quite simple for these ails you describe. Our next target should be the Golden City itself.” Bethany cleared her throat and exchanged knowing glances with Via, who had pre-existing knowledge of Bethany’s intention to approach the option. She did not disapprove of such a campaign in the slightest, and Bethany knew that. Bethany sat up a little straighter when she realized that she had the attention of these powerful men in the palm of her hand. “What we need to win this war is an audacious move, and there is nothing more stunning than bringing the fight to Manhattan’s door. The defenses that keep them safe, besides the soldiers, is a wall. I believe that with enough concentrated force could plow through whatever forces they have stationed in the city and breach the wall. It would only be a matter of time. Then, the city is overrun by our forces, and we can take the capital by force.”

“I second that motion. Although I cannot use my powers to see Manhattan as something obstructs my vision, I would support Bethany’s assessment of their defenses.” Vianna chimed in before any dissent could shoot down the idea as she suspected Rumlow might take issue with an intelligent woman dictating the conversation with factual insights. Those at the table murmured in agreement with the blissfully unaware that Manhattan expected such a move and held a two month head-start. Pierce pushed himself from his seat and effectively silenced all the conversations when it became clear he intended to make a verdict. Everyone had the opportunity to argue their perspective on what they considered the best course of action, and it was time to decide how to proceed.

“There shall be no further debate,” Pierce charismatically proposed, and his unnerving smile suited those sitting around the table fine. His stamp of approval never went contested as, without Hydra, none of the other kingdoms in their tribrid alliance would hold the sway they did now. Essentially, whatever Pierce said, goes. He clapped his hands together and declared, “Prepare your forces and supplies at once. We will take the Golden City and watch it go up in flames. With Manhattan destroyed, everyone else will fall in line. Let us end this war once and for all, in the name of Hydra’s glory!”


	15. Dangerous to Dream

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Late one evening, in the dark of his and Helena’s chambers, Steve sat on his desk with the weight of the world on his shoulders like the punished titan and a mind full of thoughts that could not sleep. Letters sat piled on his desk, and it seemed that for every note he responded to, two more would make their way onto the pile. The time for leisure did not exist for him, and he felt profoundly weighted from his responsibilities, especially by the additional ones he dropped onto his shoulders. Ultimately, he felt responsible for bringing the horrors of war to Manhattan’s shores, and therefore, he would do everything in his power to protect as many lives as he could. The task seemed herculean for one man, but if any man could do it, it would be him. 

His goal during the patch of sleeplessness that seemed to haunt him when the sun dipped below the horizon was to complete as much of his neglected correspondence as he could. He spent his days overseeing the training of the troops more than he dealt with letters, which contributed to a significant backlog in responses. Through the hours upon hours of training, he refused to abandon his wife to her own devices and carved out time to see her. She begged to help with the strategic planning, and he begrudgingly agreed, not because he did not think her capable. He wished her to stay uninvolved because he noticed how the stress was eating at her too. Neither of them was rather good at concealing that truth from each other, but there was nothing that stubbornly insistent partners might do to dissuade the other.

“This is not going anywhere productive,” Steve sighed out and rubbed at his eyes, careful not to smear any ink on his hands across his face. He slumped backward in his chair and closed his eyes, hoping a short break might help him with his struggles to compose a coherent thought. His vision was swimming, and his head filled with the dull ache from the strain. Lost in his inner monologue, Steve missed the creak of someone stirring in the bed and the sound of his wife rousing from her slumber.

“Steve, what are you still doing up?” Helena questioned, and Steve felt his shoulders tense when he realized that he accidentally woke her up. He glanced over his shoulder to see her seated up, rubbing at her eyes and quickly adjusting the nightgown slipping down her bosom free of bindings. He guiltily averted his eyes back to his desk; he knew he needed to call it quits for the night. He knew what Helena might say before she said it. 

“I am working on letters still. I got a little carried away with the time,” Steve admitted, as he could not bring himself to lie to Helena over such an insignificant matter. He made a mistake by forgetting their discussion, and he would own up to it with dignity. “I apologize for my negligence, my love but the things I must attend to is quite overwhelming-”

“You told me you were coming to bed,” She reminded him quietly but tried her best not to sound upset. During the preparations, Steve was wearing himself thin and drowning in his work, which she pointed out. He promised to make a more conscious effort to care for himself, but he failed to recall exactly how long he had been sitting and working at the desk. Helena had fallen asleep, and he promised that he would be there soon, but the time escaped him when glancing between the finished pile and what letters were still unread. Seemingly unsatisfied with that answer and keenly aware of the exhaustion tinging her husband’s voice, Helena slipped from the sheets tangled around her body, and she quietly crossed the room to him. She planted herself behind him, wrapped her arms around him, and leaned over his shoulder to read the reports. She softly frowned when she gently pushed the empty parchment away and returned the quill to the ink jar. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, “In the morning when you return from training, I insist on helping you- I will not hear a word of protest, darling.” Helena instructed, and Steve sighed, knowing that his wife was right. He snuffed out the candle on his desk and rose from his seat, cracking his back loudly. Helena interlaced their fingers together, and the two walked through the darkened room toward their bed.

“Mmm, I should never question your wisdom, my love.” Steve chuckled huskily when he crawled under the sheets and opened his arms to Helena for her usual spot. She tended to nestle herself in his embrace and curl around him. Helena hummed knowingly as she expected that coming to bed with her would be more enjoyable than slogging through correspondence from their allies and other miscellaneous reports written by his men.

“All my nagging is born out of concern for you. I do not wish to offend you or make you feel incompetent in any way, Steve. I see you shouldering more responsibility than needed, and I feel guilty,” Helena confessed when rolling onto her side, turned away from Steve. She ran her hand along the sheets absentmindedly when she felt the prick of frustration in the back of her eyes. She did not wish to get overly emotional with her pleas or show Steve how much she was hurting. He knew that she felt some sense of culpability for Rumlow’s irreconcilable rage, which was not anywhere near her control, and the guilt never truly subsided from hollow platitudes or assurances that the storming of Manhattan was an inevitable outcome. The guilt threatened to swallow her whole, and Helena begged that the ground beneath her might do it instead, seeing that as a pitying punishment from the Pantheon. She exhaled a trembling breath through her lips, “I am sorry that I turned out to be worth such a high, painful price that Manhattan seems to be paying. I do not even know if I am worth it all.”

“Helena, look at me,” Steve insisted with his characteristic gentle firmness, where he did not bark but leaned on his natural command to compel those around him, and Helena reluctantly rolled onto her other side. Steve reached out to tenderly cup her chin and tilt her chin so their eyes met. He wanted her to see and feel the sincerity of what he planned on telling her. She harbored all these doubts as to whether he regretted his decision, and none of the whispering, conspiring voices fueling the incorrect assumption could ever touch the truth. Steve thought long and hard about the same question and always came to the same conclusion. He whispered to his darling wife, “No matter what the odds might be, no matter what or who stands in our path, my decision will never change. To me, you are always worth it. There is no price too high that would keep me from you, even if it meant trading my life so that you might live happy and free.”

“Oh, Steve!” Helena gasped, and she felt overwhelmed by the burst of emotions through her body, so in love with her husband that it physically ached within her bosom. She and he gravitated toward each other until their lips gently collided in a passionate embrace. Both were quickly swept up in the kiss, and their plan for sleep became forgotten. Helena nearly moaned when her body settled on top of Steve’s lap without breaking the contact. Her hands were posted on opposite sides of his body and rested on his shoulders while Steve blindly mapped out her body with his greedy hands, feeling emboldened from Helena’s positive reactions. She melted into his hands.

When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together when catching their breath and allowed them to stare into the world of blue belonging to the other. 

“You know what gets me through the tiresome struggles of the position and the days that seem to drag on ever so slowly?” Steve questioned, drawing Helena’s attention and her curiosity following not far behind. Helena sat up a little and pushed the hair out of her eyes.

“What does?” Helena inquired, enjoying the comfortable position of her straddling her husband’s body and the way his boyishly handsome features got more defined under the moonlight. Steve grinned, and his hands lazily trailed down the indentation of her curves to rest at her hips.

“Thinking about when the war ends. Often, I occupy my thoughts with what our lands at peace might look like and feel like. Then, there is what you and I might do. Have you thought about what comes next for us, once the war ends?” Steve inquired, curious as to her response. He would be lying if he denied the extensive ideas he imagined for what their life could be like when the trials and tribulations were overcome. By the bundle of emotions that flashed across Helena’s face, he would assume that she had done some considerations of her own.

“Certainly I have,” Helena agreed, and she felt her heart skip a beat when thinking about the future she dreamed of since she was a little girl, still compatible with the love of her life she found in Steve. “When the war ends, you and I will be free to celebrate our love for the world to see. With Rumlow and Hydra defeated, I can finally return to Eprana, and I want to share the island with you. It is a wonderful place that will be ours to lead someday.” Steve blinked when realizing what Helena implied; it was them and not she who would rule Eprana. She was the crown princess, which meant she stood to inherit the throne upon her father’s abdication or passing, and Steve was her husband. He would become the Prince Consort of an entire kingdom when Helena ascended to Queen of Eprana.

“The prospect of running a country should not have slipped my mind before marrying myself to a princess,” Steve replied, but Helena picked up on the thread of nervousness sneaking through. In the chaos of the war and the circumstances by which they fell in love, she and he never discussed ruling over Eprana.

“Oh, I knew I forgot something! My intent was never to ambush you, Steve- Please forgive me.” Helena begged, and her throat closed in panic, making the words strangled and difficult to come out properly. She sounded like a bumbling fool and expected her face to turn red with embarrassment. Steve realized his mistake in riling Helena up and cupped her face between his hands, working to calm her down.

“Helena, please. Both of us forgot, and there is no reason to fret. I was surprised, that is all. I never considered myself qualified or capable of running a kingdom’s army, much less be royalty. If you think I am suitable for the position, then I will make it my duty to serve the Epranan people.” Steve clarified and hoped that this response would not induce panic in his poor, frazzled wife.

“Why do you think you are not worthy of being king?” Helena questioned evenly, although the expression on her face appeared affronted by his lack of confidence. He was a leader among the people of Manhattan, and his military credentials were nothing to turn one’s nose up at. If Helena did not think he could be king, she would have never agreed to the marriage. Her duty to her people came above all else, including her heart.

“I have no formal courtly training unless you count the cobbled experiences of dealing with snooty nobles, and I am a soldier. Are kings not supposed to come from the elite or ruling class?” Steve sheepishly explained and shrugged indifferently, showing that he was not hurt by the idea that he might not be enough for the job. However, Helena appeared quite baffled by his reasoning, and she refused to let him believe such an egregious falsehood.

“Steve, that is ridiculous. You can be trained by instructors to learn all the protocols and fancy terminology of court, how to address dignitaries, and what the socially acceptable forms of affection are in the public view. However, one cannot be taught the attributes of a good leader, and you have them,” Helena declared, and she shook her head, prepared to storm out to the balcony and dramatically exclaim her unwavering faith and dedication to her husband and his natural leadership. She figured that Steve needed a lesson in accepting his greatness because she thought him outstanding. “You are unlike any leader I have ever met, and here is why. Firstly, your origins are nowhere near a detriment and enhance your character. Your humility, a result of your youth in Brooklyn, endears you to the common people. In you, they see the opportunity for greatness and hope for a better life. Besides, the way you were raised taught you to care about others, and the needs of your people will never go unfulfilled with you in charge. Secondly, there is no man or woman on this earthly plane that compares in loyalty. You demonstrate loyalty to your troops, to your country, to your friends, to your wife in me. Those who you feel responsible to see the sacrifices you willingly make out of sheer loyalty. Thirdly, you are a man of honor. Your word is your bond, and you would rather die than break it. You tell things like they are and hate to lie to those around you. Honesty as a leader is a forgotten art, but one that you have mastered. Finally, and this is not to say there are not more qualities which make you worthy of the title of Prince Consort, your main drive is the betterment of the world around us. You are stubborn and unyielding at times, but your intentions are noble. When you see something that will improve the lives of others, you chase after it with unbreakable determination. Steve, the qualities needed for any leader are right there in your heart, and I will not hear doubts about your abilities or worthiness to lead.”

“You really think that I am all those things?” Steve’s brow arched up, and a spike of pride echoed around his chest. He knew that Helena loved him, but hearing what she thought of him and his leadership never stopped feeling euphoric. He felt the goofy smile overtake him and had no intention of forcing it away. Helena huffed when she laid back down under his protective arm behind her shoulders. How could Steve not see his greatness for what it was? His men, contemporaries, and the common people looked up to him for a good reason.

“Of course, I do!” Helena exclaimed, and she made sure to look up at him from her head’s resting place against his firm, sculpted chest. “So, to summarize, I believe you would make more than just a good king. I think that you could be the best Prince Consort for Eprana moving forward into this era of peace once the war ends for good, and I would not want anyone else by my side.” Helena stated proudly to Steve, who admired her passionate argument with a half-smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Watching Helena discuss something with the knowledge and determination reminded Steve why he fell in love with the princess from the moment he laid eyes on her. She thrilled him; she made him feel undeniably alive to where he questioned whether the rest of his life was a dream or him sleepwalking until he woke up and saw her standing before him. Steve sat up on his forearms and playfully brushed a stray tendril of hair from Helena’s face that escaped her braid with such tenderness. She leaned into his touch instinctually, seeking out his warmth and the familiar imprint of calloused fingers against her smooth, unblemished skin.

“Perhaps the idea of such a monumental title will grow on me. It took me years to grow accustomed to General. Besides, how could I fail when I have the most intelligent, compassionate, loving, and breathtakingly beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms as my wife?” Steve suggestively remarked, and his smirk caused Helena to bury her face into his chest, blushing a dark red across her face. Although he likely could not see the change in color, Helena figured Steve comprehended the effect his words had on her.

“Flatterer. That smart mouth of yours might guess the right compliments to gift me, but nothing might please your dutiful wife more than you embracing a deep slumber until the morning comes.” Helena replied, eliciting a hearty laugh from her husband, and she glanced up at Steve. She reached her hands up to comb her fingers through his hair in a soothing, repetitive motion until she noticed his eyes drooping. Her face was the last thing Steve saw before he succumbed to the temptation of sleep, his body exhausted enough to trick his mind. Helena smiled, and with her plan completed, she laid down with her head against his chest and she drifted back off to sleep.


	16. Ride of the Valkyries

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Another month passed by much swifter than the two that proceeded it. As promised, Steve accepted Helena’s request to help him with correspondence and, much to his relief, having his wife’s keen intellect, graceful handwriting, and way with words lightened the tasks he found himself with. When he stumbled in, exhausted after training the troops and keeping his skills from dulling, Steve would see his wife sitting at his desk with ink smudged fingers and a look of concentration. She would save the letters requiring his input for when he returned while she handled the others.

Steve might rouse her from her dedicated work with a kiss against the top of her head and his hands rubbing at her shoulders, eliciting a soft moan of delight. Helena could not deny the relief she felt from the release of pressure building up in her shoulders. She tried her best to maintain her excellent posture throughout the day while she responded to letters, but hunching over the desk introduced the dull pain buzzing around her shoulders and upper back.

“Thank you, my love. I can take over from here on out,” Steve promised, leaning forward to press a kiss to her cheek. The aroma of lavender oil and honey tickled his senses, enticing him to bury his face into the crook of her neck. Helena squirmed and giggled from the unexpected warmth of his breath brushing against her sensitive skin. She gasped when Steve scooped her up and carried her off from the letters, opting for the two of them to take a break before they resumed the tedious work of wartime preparations. That started a daily routine from sunrise to sunset, nothing straying from the expected norm.

One such morning started no different from those that proceeded it and those that might succeed it; the day began with the couple’s tradition of watching the sun rise into the sky together and discuss their expectations for the day ahead when Steve surprised Helena that he expected the training to be handled by Sam and Bucky, as they promised to be on their best behavior. That would free up time for the General to spend with his wife. Helena was thrilled by the news, and they spend the hour after sunrise relaxing in bed together before heading to breakfast.

Sitting beside each other at the breakfast table and exchanging flirty glances over the pastries and their spiced cider to fit the colder months of the year, Steve and Helena forgot what a morning before the war felt like. The peace of not worrying about floods of reports, the training of soldiers, tediously long meetings, or other issues meant the morning was open to their imagination. Around halfway through breakfast, their morning off fun came to a halt when Bucky jogged into the room with a questioning look, asking on his behalf if he was interrupting anything important. Steve sighed and waved his hand for Bucky to proceed, disappointed with himself for thinking he might delight in a day off with his wife without the interjection of work.

“The Asgardian forces arrived at our shores minutes ago. Thor and his troops will be here soon,” Bucky informed and watched Steve’s face fall into disappointment. Steve glanced over at Helena to gauge her reaction to the news. Make no mistake, Steve could do whatever he pleased, but he would feel enormously guilty if he ditched his wife. He would solicit her response and proceed accordingly to best facilitate his duties and the promise he made to his wife. He detested breaking any vow he made, big or small, and that heightened when Helena got involved.

“We go together.” Helena decided and placed her hand over Steve’s, a silent promise that it was okay. Thankful for his wife’s forgiving nature, Steve rose from his chair and brushed off his armor. He offered his arm to Helena, which she accepted right away. The two of them gave appreciative greetings to the palace staff that rushed in to clean their plates before departing to the courtyard of the castle. They planned to meet King Thor when he passed through the gates and provide a worthy welcome to the newly arrived ally, insistent on maintaining fostered goodwill. The assistance they requested amounted in no small favor, and Helena and Steve agreed that they wished to demonstrate how gracious they were for the invaluable contribution.

Standing in the center of the courtyard, Steve and Helena and Bucky waited for the tell-tale creaks of the gate that signaled the arrival of King Thor Odinson of Asgard. Helena spotted a blond ponytailed, tall figure moving toward them and assumed that was Thor. He wore clothes of high status and like Manhattan fashion, which made sense given the close relationship for years. Observing Thor strolling over, Helena decided that he appeared even more imposing than initially conveyed through their conference. Despite his size, the monarch wore a thrilled grin when taking in Steve.

“General Rogers and Commander Barnes! How wonderful to see you!” Thor bellowed, and he clapped the two men on the shoulders with a resounding smack of his hand. He seemed unbothered by the noise, and his reacquaintance with the men ended when he noticed Helena.

“Your Majesty, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Princess Helena of Eprana.” Steve declared and brought Helena forward with a steady hand on the small of her back. The touch reassured her and reminded her that her husband was right there.

“How do you do?” She greeted Thor and expected the typical formalities royals exchanged of bows and curtsies. That changed when she was swept up into a crushing hug, sucking all the breath from her lungs when getting squeezed between the beefy arms of King Thor Odinson.

“Ah, yes! A pleasure to meet such stunning beauty, Your Highness.” Thor chuckled with his full belly, the sensation vibrating, and Helena felt it all. She squeaked and gave Steve a look, who shrugged, but his narrowed eyes suggested that Thor might want to put his wife down. Thor did unwittingly comply when he set her down and turned back to Steve. “So, General, T’Challa wished for me to tell you that his reinforcements of several Dora Milaje and members of the several tribes will reach landfall soon. They had a slight delay and have the extra distance to cover.”

“Duly noted, Your Majesty. If it suits you, we can visit the training grounds. Commander Barnes and Lieutenant Wilson shall be dealing with the troops today, whereas you and I shall observe from afar.” Steve informed Thor, seeing as Sam and Bucky requested to take the troops under their command. He would not step on their toes over something so important to them.

“Excellent,” Thor clapped his hands together, and Steve turned to Helena, knowing that she could be doing something much more enjoyable than trailing along with him and Thor while examining the troops. He would return to her at once when he could afford time away like he was promised.

“I will return to you as soon as I am able,” Steve offered, and the two leaned in, sharing a yearning kiss. Thor and Bucky averted their eyes for some modicum of privacy for the General and his wife, giving them the stolen moments they were accustomed to these days. Never enough time in between work for the two to just be, but times of war required more significant sacrifices.

“You have your duties, General. Do not worry about me. I can manage to find ways to entertain myself in your absence.” Helena assured Steve with a gleeful tease, and she gave a respectful nod to Thor before she departed from their presence. She did feel the heat of Steve’s eyes on her back and heard the inklings of a whisper from Thor, who was louder than he intended to be.

Upon returning to the castle, Helena set off in search of something to occupy her time. She floated through the kitchens to see if the chefs were busy. If they were unoccupied, the kind folks of the kitchen staff would indulge her culinary curiosity and teach her how to cook. A princess need not know such skills, but she found cooking soothing and productive use of her time. When finding the kitchens empty, she moved onto the library and browsed the shelves for something interesting to read. Nothing seemed to catch her fancy, so she moved along. She even attempted to seek out other companies but did not see any of her friends within the halls, making her feel somewhat lonely.

After fruitless efforts and with not much else to do, Helena headed back toward the courtyard, and she expected to see the formation of soldiers lined up to listen to her husband. When she arrived at the square, however, she found it nearly empty except the small gaggle of armored women chatting among themselves. As Steve was not there, Helena quietly moved away as not to disturb them. Her plan did not proceed accordingly as she ended up brushing into a bush, and the rustling directed the attention onto her.

“Oh, sorry to bother. Do you know where Ste- General Rogers went?” Helena inquired politely when the eyes turned to her. She felt somewhat unnerved by the women, strong and stone-faced, in their armor and crowded together. She assumed these were the famous Valkyrie warriors of Asgard, personal guards to the throne, and rumored to be bolstered by magic.

“He escorted our king to speak with King Stark.” One of the Valkyries chimed up, brushing her dark black-brown hair from her face and confidently carrying a sword. She exuded power and self-assuredness, which Helena commended. Women warriors experienced plenty of discrimination through the eyes of backward thinking men like Rumlow and seeing a group like the Valkyries demonstrating superior strength in the face of such prejudice. 

“Ah,” Helena hummed softly, and she nodded, planning on seeing herself out. She hardly wished to disturb their settling in. She waved, “Thank you for the information.”

“You are the Princess, no? Helena, is it?” The same Valkyrie questioned on behalf of the others who were eying Helena up with interest. Something about her drew their attention in, and she radiated an elegance that gave the royalty impression. However, something else about her generated interest among the Valkyrie.

“That is me,” Helena confirmed politely, and upon hearing an affirmation, all the Valkyries gave a swift bow. Their service bound them to who served the Asgardian throne, but they deferred respect to all royalty. Helena reciprocated their gesture with a curtsy, which was something she reserved as an equal opportunity sign of respect. 

“You need not leave then, Your Highness. We were only preparing to spar. If you are so inclined, we welcome you to stay for our closed practice. We do not offer such a promise to anyone.” Priya mentioned, and some of the Valkyries snickered with comments of their own. It seemed to Helena that the warriors were a close-knit bunch, and such an offer was an honor she should not refuse. The last thing Helena wished to appear was aloof or rude, similarly to her and Lady Natasha’s early companionship.

“That would be lovely…” Helena agreed but uncomfortably trailed off when she realized she had not gotten any of the ladies’ names. Oh, how embarrassing on her part! She indeed had better manners than that.

“The name is Priya,” The Valkyrie in question introduced herself with a pat to her chest and a good-natured grin. She pointed around the circle and named all the other Valkyrie, but Helena’s head was spinning so fast that she did not retain much other than Priya. She suspected that might be a nickname and decided to not question it.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Helena remarked, and she was quite intrigued, from what she learned about the Valkyrie. The worthiest warriors were chosen to join their ranks and the unbroken sisterhood in service to Asgard. Helena sat on the bench with a perfect view of the Valkyrie while they trained as a group and in smaller groups. Their form was pristine, and their accuracy deadly, which made Helena relieved they were on the side of Manhattan. All the while, she intently observed the techniques through the lightning-fast jabs, dodges, and slashes of their fighting methods. For a sharp mind like Helena’s, picking up on the patterns was no difficult skill. Priya glanced over and watched the way Helena analyzed a fight, and she, struck with an idea, decided to test the mettle of the princess.

“Say, Your Highness, I would love to test your observation skills with a little spar.” At the mention of a spar, the Valkyrie erupted in various comments with the reigning approval of the proposal. Helena nearly balked since she felt she was walking into an outright defeat, but declining was not something Helena was fond of. She would rather lose in a fight and get her dignity scuffled than rudely refuse a gesture of friendliness.

“I- I supposed I could indulge that request.” Helena reluctantly replied, and she rose from the bench. She accepted a sword from one of the Valkyrie, and the girls not participating formed a loose circle to create a boundary. Helena and Priya tapped the edges of their blades in a sign of respect, customary for a practice battle.

“Let us see how much you learned-” As Priya spoke, Helena felt her vision blackout, and her senses cut off. Helena tumbled into limbo with a frustrated cry when she slammed into the darkness and no sign of when the dizzying free-fall might end. This only happened twice before: on her way to Hydra and when fleeing Hydra on the Howling Commando. She knew this song and dance, but she hated it when it happened without her consent. After what felt like an eternity, she blinked again, and her senses returned to reveal Priya on her back, disarmed, and with Helena’s sword pressed against her neck. The Valkyries were stunned by the sight of one of their own defeated and Helena, somewhat timid and elegant, demonstrating prowess. 

“Uh- yield?” Helena meekly suggested, not knowing what else to do. She swallowed back the panic from bleeding through her eyes and maintained the composure she used when she lived in Eprana. She was a changed woman from the past, and those walls that kept everything were eroded away, for the better or for worse.

“I yield,” Priya puckered her lips, and Helena dropped the sword away from her neck, accepting the yield. She rubbed the back of her head and sat up when studying Helena, “Have you done this before?”

“No, this is my first time,” Helena said confidently, which was not a lie by any means. She, personally, had never wielded a sword or any other weapon. She never sparred before either, making for another exciting first. What knowledge belonged to her that she never accumulated was beyond her understanding. Her confession earned murmurs of approval from the Valkyries, mostly when she held her hand out to Priya graciously and assisted her bested opponent back onto her feet. She watched Steve enough to know the common courtesy of the training ground.

“That was an excellent display, Your Highness. I can promise I was not going that easy on you.” Priya confessed, which much pleased Helena. Some reinforced confidence in herself happened to be what she needed, a step in the right direction when coming to decide her destiny when the fateful day of battle reached Manhattan’s shores.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate the honesty.” Unable to control her giggle, Helena glanced down at her feet. The compliment significantly boosted her spirits, and she discovered something exhilarating about the rush of battle. Perhaps when the war ended, she might convince her husband to train her in the way of the sword.

“We came on behest of the king to train the soldiers, but I can say that we see you as one of us, Princess Helena. You need not worry about the battle ahead for my sisters, and I wish to pledge our swords in the protection of you. We shall join the battle against Hydra.” Priya informed her and glanced around at her fellow Valkyries for their reactions to her suggestion. None of the women there could deny that the princess possessed an aptitude for the art of war, and her sweetness compelled them to sympathize with her. Hardened warriors like the Valkyrie were intended to defend Asgard and their king, but she was sure that her sisters in arms might see Helena as worthy. Her comments earned cheers of agreement from her fellow Valkyries. 

“I cannot thank you enough for your dedication to our cause. We need every warrior who finds the call in their heart to defend the Golden City. This is my second home, and I do not wish to see it violated by Hydra’s greed and expansionist ambitions. We would be honored to accept your assistance, and if King Stark questions it, which he likely will not, I would be willing to argue for your presence alongside us.” Helena smiled graciously, and she turned, handed the borrowed sword back to the Valkyrie, who pressed it into her hands and gave Priya a curtsy as a sign of respect.

“Princess, you now ride with the Valkyries, and if the enemy does not fear you know, they will learn to.” Priya curled her arm over Helena’s shoulder, and Helena gave a dazzling giggle when she returned to the edges of the circle, and another pair of Valkyries stepped into the middle for a spar. 


	17. A Night in Her Arms

_Manhattan, Year 9 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Manhattan was ready for war.

The troops were thoroughly trained underneath the watchful eye of General Rogers, and his guidance molded the ragtag volunteers who enlisted into the best fighting force in the Seven Kingdoms. The presence of Thor and his forces, as well as the Wakandan reinforcements, who arrived a few days prior, increased the morale of the soldiers. The confidence in General Rogers to lead Manhattan to a decisive victory was unmatched.

Another long day dragged by, and when the troops retired for the evening, Steve exhaustedly lumbered back to his chambers. He was coated in dirt and sweat from the day of training, which made him feel grimy. He could ask some palace staff to gather some water for the basin to wash up. He reached the door, leaned against it to catch his breath for a moment, and he lamented the fact that the transformation of him from weakling to super warrior did not eliminate him of his past ailments entirely. He still faced moments where breathing escaped him, and he indulged in a break to regain his strength. Those were rare occasions, but they reminded him that he was still mortal and bled if struck. Complacency was not the option.

He pushed open the door and entered his bedroom, finding the room empty. Much to his surprise, as he expected Helena to be there, and he glanced toward the balcony. He approached but did not see her there either. His next assumption was to guess that she was elsewhere or on an errand, so he called out her name.

“Helena, my love, are you-” Steve spotted something moving in his periphery vision and turned to greet his wife, but the words escaped him when his eyes laid on her. Oh. Steve’s train of thought and decision to finish any correspondence sitting on his desk derailed when he examined the [creamy white satin robes](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/9c/21/b1/9c21b1f4e44bcfab1e2bbe3da2d6c604.jpg) she wore. The robes did reach the floor, and not much skin ended up exposed, but the molding of the material to her skin where no room remained for even air knocked the breath out of Steve. Helena, knowing full well the effect her chosen attire might have, innocently laced her hands together and swayed side to side. Steve’s eyes were fixated on her like the archer with their intended target, and she reveled in his gaze.

“Yes?” Helena slyly questioned, prompting Steve from his dazed stupor. The noises that escaped him nearly elicited a laugh from her. She managed to hold a straight face with bearing belonging to the soldiers he trained, shooing away her urge to descend into giggles. Steve cleared his throat sheepishly, and he looked at a loss for words still.

“Uh, apologies. I did not see you in the room,” Steve stumbled over his uncooperative tongue when slowly soaking in the sight of the white satin and her curls escaping from her updo piled atop her head in a traditional Epranan style. There was nothing for him to apologize for. Helena thought that after such a long day, Steve deserved a reward for his tireless efforts in leading the troops with moral leadership and more. So, this was all for him to indulge and wind down after the early hour wake-up call.

“Come,” Helena beckoned him with opened arms and a beguiling smile, fluttering her lashes at him. Her voice swirled with sweetness, and Steve walked into her embrace, drawn into her like the spellbound sailor to the alluring siren. Helena pressed her hands against the cool armor and glanced up at him through thick lashes. She purred, “I prepared you a bath.”

“A bath sounds nice.” Steve swallowed thickly, and he inched his hands down Helena’s back from her shoulders to her waist and determined their resting place low on her hips. Helena’s delighted expression synced with the twinkle in her eyes, which dropped up and down at his attire and his dirtied face. Oh, he needed a bath, alright. 

“You might want to put your armor away, darling,” Helena suggested and nimbly danced out of his grasp, giggling as she ducked into the bathroom. She heard the various clangs of his chainmail and other metallic ornaments knocking together as her husband hastily disrobed. She knelt by the basin filled with steaming water, newly reheated by her touch. She must admit, her usage of magic was rusty. She generously filled the bath with imported salts meant to calm the body and loosen the tension. She inhaled the faint aroma rising in the steam, and the piercing notes opened up her senses, waking her up. She glanced up from her kneel at the side of the basin to see Steve enter the room, undressed.

“I was thinking about a bath before I got here. Did you read my mind?” Steve teased with a boyish cheekiness as he approached the basin. The steam pouring off the water enticed him as he preferred hot baths. He never grew accustomed to them because his childhood made accumulating hot water for baths difficult, so he considered them a luxury even now. He stepped into the tub and bit back a cheeky comment that the basin was big enough to fit two people comfortably to Helena since she seemed comfortable outside the bath. The perfume she wore suggested she already had one.

“Perhaps I did, or I know you like I know myself, darling,” Helena replied when Steve lowered himself into the steaming waters, and a groan escaped him from the instant relief the heat against his aching muscles. After days of endless, hours-long training, his body needed the break. Helena reached down to her side, where she had a small tray of fragranced oils that she purchased from the marketplace earlier that morning. She had planned this all day.

Helena removed her wedding band and set it into the tray with a small clatter, not wanting to disturb the metal from the consistent dipping into the water. She selected the first vial of colored glass, a deep red, and popped the cork off to smell inside. The aroma of something unidentifiably earthy and fresh greeted her, and Helena gently applied a generous amount of oil onto her bare hands. She did a quick rub, poised herself behind Steve, and laid her soft hands to coat hot oil against his body. Steve hummed when his wife massaged his body to release the tension in his body.

There was no speaking between the two of them as Steve sank lower in the water, and Helena continued her efforts. She rolled her knuckles and nimble fingers over the muscle knots she felt and broke them up, wanting to quickly rid Steve of those minor annoyances. When the knot was particularly rough, Steve would grip the edge of the basin in mild discomfort, whereas anyone else might yelp and writhe in pain. In between each knot, Helena would embrace a break and focus on comforting Steve. Her hands would glide over his chest, shoulders, back, torso while her lips nuzzled against his neck, marking it up with sensual kisses.

Steve’s eyes rolled closed, and he swallowed back a groan, enjoying himself far too much. His wife was a godsend, in every sense of the word. Neither of them worried about how much time passed as the evening was theirs to spend how they wished. Helena continued until her hands pruned up from the water and grew soft underneath the influence of the oils. When the water grew lukewarm, Steve and Helena considered the bath over. Rising from the tub, the water droplets raced down Steve’s skin, and Helena raked her eyes over his oiled body with a distracted grin. She offered him a covering to dry himself off, which he accepted.

“You are too good for me,” Steve remarked as he dried himself off, pleased with how the tension in his muscles relaxed to provide an unfamiliar sensation of relief. He folded up the covering and laid it by the side of the basin. When his back turned, Helena teasingly glided out of the room, and she peeled away the top layer of the robes. She draped it over the end of his chair, and she freed her hair from the ribbons binding it. She shook her head from side to side, making her curls loose and bouncy before she climbed into the bed. That was how Steve found her when he walked through the open archway into the bathroom, in all his naked glory. He ran his hands through his hair and raised his brow at his wife’s coy teasing on full display. Her behavior was not unfathomable, but it was infrequent.

Climbing into bed with his wife, the two rolled onto their sides to face each other, and Helena greeted Steve with a softened smile. Her eyes were glowing with joy. This was something she needed greatly, and she hardly realized how much she missed him during the day until she had him back in her arms.

“What is on your mind, my love?” Steve questioned, and he pushed a stray hair behind her ear. He knew when she was lost in thoughts from the dreamy smile or the way her eyes adopted a far-off look. Helena blinked twice, snapping back from her thoughts. Mostly, she was thinking about how handsome Steve looked with his tousled hair and relaxed since these days saw him exhausted and solemn during the day. The only time he seemed at peace was when he was alone with her or asleep, which was less than Helena would have liked.

“Our conversation about the future where we discussed returning to Eprana and the prospect of ruling a kingdom. There was more that I considered besides ascending to the throne. We already accomplished one of those things in marriage, but there is something else equally important.” Helena alluded, and Steve racked his brain for what it might be.

“Like what?” He had no shame of asking when he did not know the answer. Helena dropped her eyes, and the tips of her ears turned red, contrasting her forwardness from earlier. She bounced between innocent and vixen with a seamless ease that Steve nearly did a double-take. She bit on her lip while considering her choice of words.

“How do you feel about children?” Helena apprehensively inquired, and she knew that this was another conversation they needed to have, perhaps at a different time. However, war on the horizon did not guarantee tomorrow to anyone. “The number one expectation for a royal couple is to produce an heir. Now, Eprana is more socially forgiving of choosing to adopt if the royals are unable to conceive on their own.” Her voice grew tight, and she would tumble down into a ramble until Steve cupped her face.

“Helena, do you want kids?” Steve calmed her nervous rambling with a firm, unwavering gaze, and she swallowed, taking the pause to regain control. The answer? Yes. Of course, she did. But she, more than wanting any random child, wanted Steve’s. She wanted a bundle of love and joy that was of their blood and hoped that might be possible. Finding herself infertile or unable to conceive would crush her.

“I have always wanted kids. I was an only child growing up, and the palace felt so lonely without siblings to stay around. That isolation grew when it was just my father and I. I would imagine that my husband and I would have several children together to make a big, happy family.” Helena wrapped her arms around him, feeling shy suddenly. The man before her was not a stranger in the slightest, but sharing her deepest desires of the past, present, and future left her feeling vulnerable. There was no need to fear Steve reacting poorly.

“Helena, I want nothing more than to give you the big family you crave. I was an only child, but I had the other children in the slums, except I tended to get picked on. Bucky was my brother, there through thick and thin. I want to be a great father to our children.” Steve promised her, and his desire for kids was just as strong as hers. Their idyllic future of living in a beautiful country with each other and their potential family, leading the Seven Kingdoms into an era of prosperity for all peoples seemed right within reach for him and Helena.

“Oh, Steve! You will be!” Helena assured him, and she crushed him in a hug. Her face buried into his bare shoulder, absorbing the leftover remnants of the scented oils, and she could not stop the smile pushing through. “Our children would be so lucky to have a father like you.” She whispered sweetly. She knew this through how he cared about the men he served beside. Her husband was made to be a protector, and their kids would be no exception to his need to keep those he loved safe.

“You think so?” Steve inquired, to which Helena nodded because she meant what she said. He chuckled and layered his hand on top of hers. If their children were lucky to have him as a father, then there was no way that they would not adore their mother. His eyes crinkled at the edges with his cheery smile, “Then, they would be beyond lucky to have you as their mother.”

“I can see it now. Having little ones running around with my eyes and your hair and that smile of yours that sends my heart aflutter. They would have your confidence and hopefully my kindness, knowing that there is good in this world and willing to stand up for those who cannot.” Helena imagined aloud, and she could see a son or daughter, or multiple children, running around the Epranan palace gardens with joyful shrieks and Steve chasing after them. While his wife indulged in the daydream of the future, Steve got to planning. He was a strategist, on and off the battlefield. Seeing her desire to have a baby so urgent and strong, he knew that he would do anything to give her what she wanted as soon as possible.

“All this speak of children has gotten me thinking,” Steve drawled, and his fingers intentionally walked down her hip and swarmed around her thigh, gripping at it. His fingers tugged at the robes and revealed a little more skin, causing Helena’s rosy cheeks to brighten and her eyes to adopt the knowing sparkle. She grasped where he was heading before he needed to say it. Steve flicked his eyes up her body, and his eyes bore into hers with renewed intensity, the exhaustion he felt vanished from sight. He cleared his throat, and his eyes flashed with mischief, “There is no harm in us, trying for a child.”

“Mmm, I agree.” Helena wet her lips, and that agreement set them both off, crashing together in a heated kiss and pulling off clothing. Skin on skin, frenzied moans, and the urge to feel each other up drove them into the sheets, and the rapidly darkening room was filled with the intoxicating love they shared. The moonlight filtered into the chambers, and the chilly winter sea air drove Steve and Helena to seek warmth in each other well into the night.


	18. The Lovers’ Final Promise

_Manhattan, Year 10 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Lying in bed with Helena soundly asleep in his arms and curled up into his side, Steve stared up at the ceiling while sleep evaded him. The past several nights were plagued with restless sleep and disturbed thoughts for him, prompting concern from his doting wife. He assured her that he was fine; he hated lying to her with every fiber of his being, and Helena knew that he was not giving her full transparency, but she could not force the truth from him. She buried her concerns as best as she could because she believed Steve was competent and knew that he could confide in her should he need help. 

Outside the balcony, Steve expected revelers in the streets and the sounds of music, laughter, and merriment floating up the side of the Tower. The early hour of the morning likely wound down somewhat. Still, he knew to never underestimate how the people of Manhattan could celebrate during times of great sorrow equal to times of prosperity and overflowing cheer. Tonight marked the entrance into the Manhattan new year, which was celebrated by King’s Day. King’s Day was a holiday reserved for coronations of a new crown ruler, announcements of heirs, or celebrating the royal family’s greatness. Additionally, the Manhattan-Hydra war entered its tenth year when dawn broke.

Was it only ten years ago that this war started? A mere decade since the Hydra insurgents, once belonging to Manhattan, attempted to assassinate the king and usurp the throne? The attack happened on this very day all those years ago, and so, King’s Day adopted a secondary meaning. It stood for the strength and preservation of the royal family for the foreseeable future, molded into a taunt against their would-be attackers that the institution of the Manhattan monarchy was there to stay.

Without stirring Helena from her sleep, Steve extracted himself from his wife’s arms and walked over to the balcony, quietly opening the doors to the cold air of the early morning. He inhaled deeply and closed them behind him to avoid disturbing Helena. Leaning against the glass of the doors, Steve rubbed at his face while absorbing the chill of the Manhattan’s winter to awaken his exhausted senses. He could use a moment to breathe to reorient himself and collect his thoughts. He approached the railing and cautiously leaned over the edge, taking in the sights of the revelers in the streets. For the early hour, many people were still lively and running through the streets with the war off their minds. He wished he could do the same, even for a day. The prospect of the impending Hydrian assault never left his mind, whether awake or asleep. He possessed the utmost confidence in his soldiers and allies, but he needed more confidence in himself. So, as he did when he faced conflict, he turned his gaze out onto the Golden City from the castle to the wall and everything in between. He studied the center courtyard markets, the villas of the wealthy, and the sight of Brooklyn. His vantage point over the whole kingdom reminded him how far he had come and grounded him back to humility. From here, he could see what his men and fellow soldiers were fighting for. But, if he glanced over his shoulder and back into the bedroom where Helena slept, he could see what he was fighting for.

Nothing made Steve fight harder than the woman in his bed, his wife and the love of his life. He just found her, and they planned on spending their lives together, which he was not about to lose. Everything he did was for Helena.

Steve lingered on the balcony, watching over the people of Manhattan as the crowds dwelled down slowly into small scatters of people as the quiet hushed over the morning for a brief reprieve before the morning routine of the citizens. All quiet in the morning, he contemplated whether he should return to bed or prepare for the day. He slipped back inside, managing to maintain enough silence to avoid disturbing his still-sleeping wife. Approaching her side of the bed, he gently brushed his fingers along her hair and pushed a few stray tendrils from her face, taking in her resting state. She was achingly beautiful when she slept as she was when she was awake. Her beauty belonged on the hand-painted canvas of a master or immortalized into the polished alabaster of a statue. Helena adjusted in her sleep with a muffled sigh and squirmed in the sheets, nudging closer to where he was. She unconsciously sought his warmth, and her lips curled into a smile when she touched the warm spot that smelled of him.

Steve felt his throat catch at the sight, his heart threatening to jump out his chest and nestle itself into her gentle hands. She was a goddess among women, a queen worthy of his worship, although she described him as her equal. Crawling back into bed and attempting another go at sleep tempted him, but he forced himself to walk away. If he indulged that desire, the amount of sleep he would accumulate was not enough to justify delaying his morning preparations. So, he approached the armoire and opened it to reveal his various suits of armor. He pulled out the basics of his underneath clothes like leather breeches, his undershirt, the layer of chainmail he wore underneath his breastplate for an additional layer of protection.

He donned these items without much thought involved, for his daily repetition taught his body to react before his mind expended energy on such menial tasks. The clink of metal came faintly against his body intentionally as he took special care to preserve the peace. Where he had sleeplessness, Helena suffered from the influence of unspeakably gruesome nightmares flashing before her eyes with such vividness that she swore they might constitute visions. Their concerns and fears burdened them in different ways, none less demanding than the others.

During his dressing, there came a loud knock at the door in the pattern his soldiers used when reporting into his office. Steve winced at the interruption and ambled across the room in a state of half-dress, missing at how his wife groaned and drifted from her slumber. Her eyes groggily opened when she heard the door, and that kicked her awake, prompting her to rub her eyes and sit up. She took in the sight of Steve, dressed in pieces of his armor and visibly more awake than her, opening the door to find an emissary.

The young man was no more than eighteen, the same age Steve had been when joining the service. He recognized the young man’s face, and the name Parker flickered into his head… Peter Parker, seventh regiment. The young lad showed prowess for combat engineering and got moved into the seventh to work in conjunction with the sixth and eighth, comprised of battlefield medics, to create the non-combatant arm of the military. Peter appeared terrified and kept fidgeting with his hands, a habit of his to quell nervous energy. Coming face to face with the General for the second time since joining the army knocked his breath away, especially when admiring one of the heroes of the nation. His personal hero happened to be King Stark, a genius engineer of his own class, but he admired General Rogers’ dedication to his country.

A knowing silence fell between the two men and their unwitting third party in Helena. Peter glance around Steve to see her, and his cheeks flushed pink. He averted his eyes politely from the ethereally beautiful princess, respecting her privacy given the intimate nature of her state of dress. Steve knew what this wake-up call meant, and he expected that this day might come. Helena observed the silence and brimming with confusion, she sat up a little more.

“Steve? Darling, what is going on?” Helena’s voice sleepily called from behind him, causing a jolt of tension to gather in his shoulders and his jaw to clench. How much she overheard was unknown; this was not the news he wished to break, and he expected that his and Helena’s world might drop out from beneath him. The moment of reckoning had arrived: Hydra was in sight and racing to make landfall. The battle for the Golden City

“General, we received word from the wall watch. Ships have been spotted heading for Manhattan from the northeast. Hydra is coming, sir.” Peter quickly informed, the unfortunate bearer of bad news, and Steve’s face darkened drastically. He cowered a bit as General Rogers’ righteous anger allegedly struck fear into the hearts of his enemies that influenced them to flee the battlefield. Instead of responding right away, Steve heard the scrambling behind him consistent with wrestling out of the sheets.

Steve turned to the window, where Helena was pressed up against the glass, and he saw the ships in the distance as the fog had cleared. From what he might see, the city had approximately two hours for the troops to gather outside the walls, and the citizens seek out protection in their homes before the Hydrian fleet reached landfall. From the intel Natasha gleaned for him, the first wave was a mix of Sokovian conscripts and Hydra’s standing army. The second wave encompassed Wakandan insurgents and more of Hydra. The third and final wave would have the Vormir mages, the rest of Wakanda and Sokovia’s allied forces. The leadership of the Hydrian soldiers got staggered out between the waves. He expected that Rumlow would lead the first wave, but he would send his men ahead of himself and let them hurl themselves to the slaughter. Rumlow predicted a victory, and watching it all stayed a priority for him. Steve hoped he enjoyed the sight of defeat because he planned on ending the war with this battle. 

“Gather the troops outside the wall. I shall meet you and them there.” Steve declared to Peter, who nodded and promptly closed the door, leaving Steve and Helena in the aftermath of the revelation that the war reached Manhattan. Steve grabbed the pieces of his battle armor, hand-crafted for the occasion in his trademark white with a blue cape, and headed into the other room to resume his preparations. He glanced down and macabrely thought that his armor would be smeared with red by the end and hoped it was not of him.

Meanwhile, Helena staggered back from the window like she was burned, recoiling into herself, and her legs wobbled. She nearly tripped over her own feet and fell back onto the bed, the numbness inhabiting her veins. She felt cold, empty. Where did the warmth go? She swallowed her shock and forced it down into the emptiness to stay there. She sat there and resisted the urge to scream. She was not ready for the end. The moment of their judgment, the final crucible, arrived on their shores with all deliberate speed, and she feared to see the fire before her eyes ravaging the jeweled city. Glancing down at her lap, she blinked and realized she had started to cry. The tears silently dripped down her cheeks and stung at her eyes, making them blur. She missed the sight of Steve returning to the room with his rounded shield, red and white striped with a gleaming silver star, and his gleaming sword holstered in a sheath for the moment.

He gazed upon Helena’s hung head and her body trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind, and he knew. He raced to her side and knelt before her, lifting her face to confirm the noiseless, agonized sobs she held back. She threw herself onto him and buried her face into his neck, wailing. In her heart, the darkest of her doubts hissed that she was sending him to his death and the death of countless innocents for her selfish desires. She felt nothing but a sense of shame in herself until she remembered that she did not start this war, nor did she deserve to suffer in Hydra’s captivity as an enslaved bride. She asked for none of this chaos, madness, or fixation from Rumlow on her, and she desired it to end.

“If I could stay here with you forever, I would,” Steve whispered to her, tenderly wiping away the tears from the corners of her eyes and drying the apples of her cheeks. Her nose tinted red, and her eyes grew puffy from her sadness. Seeing her afraid and suffering pained him, which was why he and his men marched against Rumlow’s incoming forces.

“I am not selfish enough to demand you stay here nor foolish enough to believe you would abandon your men to their fates,” Helena informed, painfully quiet. Her eyes lacked their exuberant twinkle that defined the optimistic personality of the princess. Heaviness dropped onto her shoulders, and she struggled to grasp the gravity of her fears. He was willing to die for her; she demanded that he live to fight another day for her instead. She blinked away the tears stuck in her thick lashes and sucked in a shaking breath, “Steve, I know full well the dangers that you shall face when you leave me today. I cannot tell you all the things on my heart without becoming inconsolable, which makes this goodbye the most painful experience I have ever borne. You are entering onto the battlefield against a man who wants you dead and an army standing between him and you. There is the possibility that you may not survive this day, and I- I cannot deal with that possibility. Steve, this is my promise to you. If you perish as a hero, whether victorious or not, I refuse to live on. If you should fall on the field of battle, then I will go with you, and we shall meet again in the afterlife.” 

“Helena do not say such-” Steve breathlessly demanded, and his stomach curled into itself, keeping him from finishing his damned sentence. Risks and meeting one’s maker came as a consequence of war, but what Helena suggested defied all sense. He saw himself as willing to die so that she may live, with or without him there.

“Steve, you know what they will do to me. If you are gone, there is no reason for me to be left in this world. They would drag me back to Hydra in chains, do unspeakable things to me, and Rumlow would win. I would rather die than let him win. I love you too much to exist in a world without you in it.” Helena interrupted him with trembling lips and her voice unsteady, rife with an agony that churned around her stomach since the day she escaped Hydrian captivity. She did not wish to see her life end this way, but what choice would she have if Rumlow defeated her love? Helena refused to watch the city she grew to love to burn or stare into the eyes of the man that stole her from her home for his own gain as he gloated with an undeserving victory. Should it come to it, taking her life in her own hands would be the last resort, but a final thwarting of Rumlow’s ambitions that he could never avenge.

“Helena, I cannot even stomach the idea of you- Please do not bring harm to yourself. I could never live with myself, knowing that you would rather be dead than living without me.” Steve pleaded sternly with his wife, willing to get on his knees before her and pray to the Pantheon with the hopes that they might protect her from harm.

“Then, do not make me live in a world without you. I need a promise that you will come back,” Helena demanded when pulling him to sit beside her on the bed, grasping his face between her shaking hands. She was afraid; by the Pantheon, she felt terrified down to the cold seeping into her bones and nesting a home within them. She swallowed back more tears when she stared at her husband and her psyhima straight in the eyes. She needed this from him before she might let him leave, “Promise me that you will fight with all your power to come home to me.”

“Helena Emmeline Nepheros-Rogers, I swear on the Pantheon that I shall do anything and everything in my power to return to you alive. I love you too much to leave you by choice.” Steve swore, and thunder rumbled in the distance, sealing his words as a solemn oath. Another oath made Helena’s journey come full circle, but she needed this oath to remain unbroken. Not sure what else to say, neither dared to speak or fill the meaningful silence with hollow words. Helena felt in severe pain like shards of glass sat in her bosom and with an inhale or exhale, those jagged edges pierced her lungs. Steve miserably glanced at the door when he heard the pounding of boots racing down the hall, the sign to join his men on the battlefield. He urgently pushed his lips against Helena’s in a needy, passionate embrace that she reciprocated, understanding the intention. They did not wish to dwell on such a fearful possibility that this kiss might be their last, but neither were naïve enough to dismiss the nightmare from their minds. Helena fell back onto the bed with Steve hovering over her, losing themselves in the taste of each other. If this was to be their last while in this world, they planned to make it last.

Eventually, however, the imminent threat sailing for Manhattan split them apart from their small slice of heaven in each other. Steve met the eyes of his wife, and he could not bear to see her cry, pressing a farewell kiss to her forehead before standing up. Helena sat on her bed, clutching at the neckline of her gown, and observed as Steve boldly marched out the door of their chambers. He made a promise to her that he would stay safe and come back to her. And she prayed to the Pantheon that he kept that promise… Otherwise, she would have to keep hers, and then more hearts would be broken than one.


	19. The Battle of Manhattan

_Manhattan, Year 10 of the Manhattan-Hydra War_

Standing outside of the city’s walls, Steve remained at the front of the troops while surveying the warriors gathered for the cause before him. Faces old and new, belonging to those of strangers answering the call of their country or those he considered to be his family, stared back at him with a sea of emotions. Mainly, those in the formations of soldiers watched Steve, dressed in his full armor, while carrying his sword with pride. It was an honor to serve under his leadership and the battle for Manhattan marked an act of service they would never regret. Their duty to their country came naturally above all else. Those in the ranks of the army were prepared to follow General Rogers into the jaws of death with unwavering certainty.

Among them, there was Natasha, Clint, Sam, Bucky, and Wanda, the five standing behind the first wave of soldiers armed with their weapons and, in Wanda’s instance, channeling her magic. She acted as the natural defense against those of Vormir, and Steve knew Wanda’s power could defeat any number of magic users. She would steamroll over them without mercy, especially when she confronted Ultron. She waited years for the opportunity and grew feral for the taste of revenge. Alongside hers, Steve’s core four were trained in martial combat and armed with weapons from bows, bare knuckles, daggers, axes, and swords. His friends were among some of the deadliest warriors known across the Seven Kingdoms, and all refused to hide away, even with the potential risk to their lives.

Then, their allies from Wakanda and Asgard populated throughout the Manhattan soldiers graciously prepared for the fight. The Dora Milaje and the various tribespeople of Wakanda radiantly stood out for their vividly colorful garb and confident auras. Carrying his enchanted axe known as Stormbreaker, Thor cracked his knuckles and prepared to fight with the strength of his godly blessings belonging to him when he chose to abdicate his post for someone close to him. Last in that category were the Valkyries; led by Priya, the warrior women were armed to the teeth and prepared for the fight of their lives.

Joining their fight, Tony and Pepper stood beside each other with their enhanced automaton armor—behemoth full-body suits of metal and powered by lighting runes from Eprana and Asgard trade deals. They entrusted their sweet Morgana in the hands of their longtime advisor Harrold Hogan for the duration of the battle, as he coordinated the potential evacuation and sheltering efforts for non-combatants. With the two royals on the field, Manhattan held an advantage with juggernaut fighters in massive armors that could crush men underfoot.

In all, the Manhattan side comprised a fighting force unlike any coalition seen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Soldiers, allies, and friends lend me your ears!” Steve proclaimed, and his words elicited a ripple effect where a silence hushed over the crowd, who turned to watch their General. He remained several paces ahead of them with his eyes on the horizon, waiting for Rumlow and his forces to show themselves. He turned away from the horizon to address those in his company, feeling he owed them that much as a rousing call to action. They prepared to embark on a journey from which they might not return home or those they stood next to. The thought was solemn but realistic for Steve, a man who experienced war for nearly half his life. He cleared his throat while collecting his ideas for some impromptu remarks. Although he would be lying if he denied thinking about this moment in advance, “Those gathered here today, you have earned the admiration of your fellow countrymen and those of us who occupy the highest offices. This moment in our history called upon the bravest of us and you answered. If you should meet your maker on this day, then you have earned your place in the remembrance of those you protected and those who carry your legacy on. You shall never be forgotten, nor your sacrifices made in the name of the great kingdom Manhattan. Many of you might hear this speech and question what I know about what you feel or how you might see the forces we face. I was not unlike many of you all that long ago and I remember every ounce of fear I felt. I suggest you do one thing with that fear: weaponize it. Turn your greatest weakness and transform it into a bridge to courage. It is not the absence of fear, but the _overcoming_ of it that defines courage. All who donned their armor and reported to this field today, you have already conquered your fears. Your country needs you. Who waits for you back within those walls? Think of them because you might be the one thing standing between them and certain destruction should Hydra defeat us. We cannot lose this war. Ready your weapons, pray your final rites, and prepare for the first assault. May Fate deem you worthy within her grace and may your boldness endear you to favor. In the name of Manhattan, we go to war today!” His soldiers hung onto every word, spellbound by his courage and determination. To any who might doubt his leadership, that moment highlighted who General Rogers was and exemplified why he was the most admired soldier in Manhattan’s history.

“To Manhattan!” Tony raised his voice in the awed silence that followed and hearing a declaration of patriotic sentiment from their king spurred the soldiers from their thoughts.

“To Manhattan!” The soldiers chanted in a united call and response, raising their swords or other weapons into the sky to demonstrate their readiness to fight under General Rogers. Steve’s shoulders bristled with pride at the fighting force he created, and his eyes upturned to the sky of the barely awoken morning. There would be no watching the morning sunrise with his beautiful Helena today, for Manhattan had a war to win. Meeting the eyes of Tony, whose mask was off his face, he conveyed a message to his friend: _it was an honor to serve him as a soldier, loyal citizen, and a friend_. Tony nodded, absorbing that message in and letting Steve know that his loyalty to Manhattan transcended any of their disagreements and he was a good friend. Steve faced around and stood prepared as the first heads of the enemy army appeared over the crest of the hillside. The expectation was that Rumlow and his allies planned to slam the Hydrian soldiers into the lines of defense Manhattan procured and wear them down. At the same time, they introduced reinforcements, fixated on wearing them down until they could trample over them and into the city.

Riding at the front of the first wave, Rumlow sat adopt an armored mount with the sickeningly satisfied smirk on his lips and a glimmer of cruelty Steve could see from across the battlefield. He narrowed his eyes at Hydra’s prince and clenched his jaw; let the greater leader win. As much as Rumlow irked him to no end, he refused to lose the meticulous control that kept him ahead for any reason. Rumlow dismounted off to the side and had the horse dragged away while his army formed itself into a mirror image of what Steve did.

 _“No originality I see,”_ Steve’s derisively sneered internally when studying Rumlow’s moves, recognizing someone ripping off his strategic plays right away. If Rumlow wished to goad him into a blind rage, he failed miserably. The only way that Rumlow could push him past the point of return was safely back at the Tower and out of Rumlow’s reach.

“I hope you are ready, men! We have a General to kill.” Rumlow bellowed and his army, finished ordering themselves into their formations of small armed units, erupted with jeers and laughter directed toward Steve. Rumlow cocked his head to the side as if to tell Steve it was his move, but Steve rolled his eyes. The moment of judgment was here, and he expected that the forces that be, whether Fate or the Pantheon or something else entirely, would decide the outcome of the battle.

From her perch on her bedroom’s balcony, Helena possessed a clear view of the two forces lined up and prepared to fight one another to the death. Her stomach churned with guilt, her legs wobbled weekly, but her heart screamed at her to do something about it. As much as the fears and hesitations ingrained into her head since she was a child barked to stay neutral and refrain, she refused to stand idly by and watch the carnage of innocent people.

She refused to hide when the love of her life was on the field, championing her name and willing to die for her.

Dashing back into the chambers, Helena sprinted to the silver jewelry box hidden in a false bottom of her armoire drawers. Her fingers pried the lid open to reveal her amulet and the light touching the surface of the opal induced a brightened sparkle in the centerpiece gem. Helena nearly dropped the small box in her rushed efforts to secure the amulet around her neck. She fiddled with the tiny clasp blindly while the opal pressed up against her sternum, cold to the touch. When she managed to successfully lock the amulet around her neck, she cupped the gemstone and golden chain between two hands. She rose onto her feet and moved toward the bed, closing her eyes when she reached the foot of it where the sheets were messily piled.

“Pantheon, if you can hear me, I have a declaration. I require Solstice returned to me for good.” Helena remarked, forcing the tremble out of her voice. She had no time for cowardice or uncertainty when danger was not far off. She vigorously prayed to each god like she never had before, hoping that Fate might open the door of opportunity for her to be bold. She closed her eyes and braced herself against the bed, fully prepared for what came next. She expected that she might not regain consciousness until the battle ended or if she would ever again. But for Steve, she needed to attempt the unthinkable.

As predicted, the world around Helena blacked out and she felt disconnected from her senses to become a prisoner in her body. Her spirit disconnected from control when Solstice returned to her and she hated feeling even more powerless when she was apart from the half of her that belonged to no one. However, the darkness and disorientation did not last as Helena felt something pulling her back into control and her eyes snapped open. She registered the chill of the outside world but was somehow not cold. Then, she noticed that she stood precariously balanced on the balcony ledge and staring at a long fall. She expected a scream to tumble from her lips or her stomach to twist into knots overlooking the danger, but nothing happened. She felt unperturbed and immovably calm while defying death with her balancing act along the balcony’s edge.

 _“You know who you are. It is time you owned your greatness,”_ The voice reverberated through her mind, the mere introduction of the garbled language belonging to ancient Epranians sent what she could only describe as raw power encompassing her body in a numbing warmth. Then, she felt hot as the sensation under her skin burned like a starving inferno. Helena’s eyes rolled back and shut, fully absorbing what she held back from consuming her for over two and a half tiresome decades.

She held ichor within her hands since her birth and after twenty-six years of fearing what might happen, Helena decided to stop running from the truth. It was high time she accepted what her ancestors and even her father were too uncertain about doing.

“I am Princess Helena, daughter of King Alexander Nepheros and symbol of the Pantheon’s greatness, and I accept my destiny as Solstice, divine guardian of all things light and justice.” Helena unabashedly yelled into the open air and her body accepted the transformation. She was no longer simply Helena, but something far superior. She watched as her skin started to glow in heavenly gold with the aura of radiant divinity the rumors spoke of doubling until it touched the world around her. A pair of golden, feathered wings sprouted out from her shoulder blades and back that were never there before, painting her out as a golden angel.

Helena inhaled deeply before tilting forward and letting herself fall from the ledge, the wing catching beneath her wings and whistling in her ears. She gasped when flexing her wings with effortless confidence and she soared into the sky above the Golden City, propelling toward the wall. She and Solstice were no longer separated for her protection; they were one and Helena was who she was meant to be.

Down on the grassy knoll outside the walls, Steve and Rumlow glared at each other from across the field and awaited the other to make the first move. Rumlow thought he might goad Steve into recklessly charging, but Steve confidently planned for Rumlow’s noted impatience would serve as his undoing. Neither would see which turned out to be right when unsettled murmurs exploded from the Hydra soldiers and their eyes widened in fear when glancing at the wall. Some of Manhattan’s troops dared to glance back and they began to nervously chatter at the sight of a golden beam of light rocketing into the sky and the shock only increased when the light died down to reveal the figure behind it.

“Helena?” Steve choked on his tongue when noticing his wife standing atop the wall, appearing far different than he recalled. Across the battlefield, Rumlow’s jaw involuntarily clenched when he saw the woman he lusted for and hated so vociferously, but his bravado faltered when taking her in. Both men studied the golden battle armor gleaming, the giant pair of angelic wings rustling, the solemn expression plastered on her face, and her silky brown tresses rippling in the aimless direction of a non-existent wind.

Helena cocked her head to the side, and she held her hands out, intensifying the glow surrounding her. The skies above rapidly started to darken, and all parties witnessed in horrified silence as the sun vanished from sight as the moon slowly moved in front of the sun until a ring of fire surrounded the blacked-out moon; Helena triggered a solar eclipse. She moved her hands above her head, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed as a calling card from the Pantheon, a move destined to drive Rumlow to the brink of anger.

“What are you standing there for? Kill them all!” Rumlow snapped, nearly frothing at the mouth, pointing his sword in the direction of Steve, his army, and Helena. Not willing to risk his fury more than they feared the warriors of the opposing side, including Helena, the first wave roared and started to run forward. Manhattan prepared to strike back with inserting their forces into the middle of the battleground, their divine intervention in Helena held other plans. Helena’s lips moved into a heartless smirk, and she slashed her arms downward. From the darkness of the skies, a torrential wave of fiery light arrows rained down on the battlefield and filled the air with the sounds of agonized screams as the troops commanded forward by Rumlow were pummeled by death from above. When the arrows ceased, bodies littered the battlefield in gruesome fashion, but some of the first wave survived the initial onslaught. So, they prepared to charge forward and clash with Manhattan. However, Helena was not finished.

Launching a fierce roar, Helena dove from the wall and propelled herself toward the battlefield. She flew with a precision speed that none of the few survivors had enough time to issue a warning before Helena was upon them. She opted for the middle, and her eyes flashed, turning her wings as sharp as razor blades, not unlike the armor Sam wore. The result left whoever survived the hellish arrow rain dead and stained Helena’s wings red. The Manhattan forces gaped at the carnage as the entire first wave, or one-third, of Hydra’s fleet, lay dead before them by Helena’s hands.

The second fleet had entered the position, but Rumlow’s fury at Helena’s interference led him to abandon any semblance of a plan. He would hold back the third wave until they were needed. Rumlow raised his sword and screamed, influencing his forces to sprint forward. The second wave was the biggest of the three, meaning the most bodies to fight through. Helena felt exhausted from exerting so much power on an untrained body, but she had more to prove. When they raced forward, Helena inserted herself between the army rushing and her troops. She threw up her hands and chanted, stunning those from her side as a golden wall erected in front of her and watched as the first rows of soldiers slammed into the wall with their compatriots piling on. Thus far, Helena singlehandedly thwarted the efforts of Rumlow, and she would not stop; she earned her revenge.

“Helena, what is going on?” Steve questioned from behind her, and at the sound of his voice, the roaring for Rumlow’s suffering dimmed enough for her gentle nature to cut through. She owed her husband answers, and she heard his approach, keeping her gaze ahead on the wall. The Hydrian soldiers had taken to slamming it under weapons and bare hands to no avail.

“You are not the only one with secrets. There is a reason Eprana chose to abstain from the war and other conflicts because we have godly blood. I am a demigoddess, like my father and his father before him and his father before him. When I was younger, I requested that the gods sever my demigoddess power from me and seal it away in my amulet until I felt ready to accept the responsibility. But I refuse to sit on the sidelines any longer when I know I can help! So, I reunited with the spirit of my powers to become Solstice, Guardian of Eprana.” Helena grunted out through gritted teeth, and she could not look Steve in the eye, feeling ashamed that she lied to him and her friends for so long.

“Helena,” Steve demanded, and her head snapped toward his, showing him her blank golden eyes that contrasted the ashamed terror plastered guiltily across her face. For all the power she possessed, she appeared as fearful as the innocent doe vaguely aware of the hunter’s intentions. He took her face between his hands while she held the barriers steady, “You are a force to be reckoned with, and I would never be prouder than to declare I fought side by side with my wife.”

“I love you,” Helena remarked, and she was determined to ensure that would not be the last time she told it to him. They deserved a whole lifetime together so she could ceaselessly shower him with those three little words. She pressed their foreheads together, and she closed her eyes, tuning out the screams from the opposite side of her wall. They would get her attention soon enough, and they would not like what she intended for their misdeeds.

“I love you too.” Steve could not keep back the smile from how his wife joined the fight, although his first instinct was to panic that she entered the crosshairs of danger. But it seemed she was more than capable of handling herself, and the enemy might realize they should fear the bloodied and vengeful goddess standing before them. “Stay safe, and we can end this war once and for all.”

“I will,” Helena promised, and she looked to the troops, silently informing them that she prepared to dismantle the shield standing between them and the rabid enemy soldiers gunning for their necks. Manhattan’s troops braced as Helena’s wall dissolved into thin air and she beat the enemy forces a few feet or so back with a firm flex of her wings, stirring up a mighty gust of wind to knock them back and off their feet.

“Troops! Advance!” Steve barked out a fierce battle cry and, with his command issued, the Manhattanites and their allies surged forward to descend upon the disadvantaged and disorientated Hydrian soldiers. Alongside Sam, Helena took to the skies above with her wings as she prepared to become the aerial terror from above. Although, her gleaming sword and shield added an extra dimension of fearsomeness to her threatening demeanor. Below her golden wings, the two armies clashed aggressively in a sea of weapons, screams, and blood turning the grassy hill into slick crimson.

Soldiers from both sides collapsed when struck and the fighting commenced with no hesitation from either side, determined to win the day for their respective kingdom alliance. Those of Manhattan’s strongest warriors staggered themselves across the field and distributed the heavy-hitting targets while gathering their soldiers to cluster around the high-profile faces.

On one side of the field, Ultron found itself surrounded by not one or two but three warriors in Pepper, Tony, and Wanda. Her eyes glowing unsettlingly red, Wanda stared down Ultron while it dodged around sparkling blasts coming from the automaton armors of the Manhattan monarchs. They were taking the double duty of keeping Ultron distracted while fighting off the hordes of enemies climbing onto their armor. Wanda summoned blast after blast of her magic to hurl enemy soldiers across the field, snap their necks, or other painfully yet quick methods of disposal. She had her eye on Ultron, and the moment the opportunity presented itself, Wanda lunged forward and ripped Ultron limb from limb with her magic. Ultron mechanically grunted as Wanda stepped over the torso and head, missing its appendages, and knelt above the torso.

“You took everything I loved from me, and I intend on returning the favor,” Wanda explained, and she quickly plunged her flaming hand through the metal chest, encircling her hand around the central core of the sentient automaton. That was its life source, its heart, and she decided that it did not deserve one for its callous behavior. Wanda yanked her hand back and with it, she pulled the “heart” out of Ultron’s chest cavity. She held it up, cruelly, “That was for my family. My mother, father, and Pietro.” Wanda remarked, and tears rolled down her eyes, marking a cathartic release of suppressed pain she held onto since she fled Sokovia. She survived the violence of the coup launched by the dying monster sprawled out at her feet, and she outlived him. If only her family did too. She threw the hunk of metal passing for a heart as far as she could and gathered her magic into her fists, raring to finish the battle.

In the middle of the chaos, the Dora Milaje and Wakandans take on their insurgent countrymen, no small feat to stare into the eyes of someone you potentially considered a friend or family or your neighbor and know that their life posed a threat to yours. The fields became the space where both sides could vent their hostilities on those who betrayed their country and those who the opposition considered part of the ineffective leadership.

The opposite edge of the battlefield was where Thor and the Valkyries staked their claim on the field and fanned out into a dangerous funnel of death that attracted a significant portion of the soldiers. Those foolish enough to approach were persuaded by the promise of glory should they kill a former god. Such endeavors appeared fruitless as none got remotely close to Thor without meeting a fateful end from lightning or the expert killers known as the Valkyrie.

Finally, at the front of the battle, the core four of Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Bucky worked as a cohesive unit with soldiers guarding around them in a circular pattern to force a path open. Rumlow hid at the back of the troops and fought any soldier who got too close to him with no regard for supporting his troops. Using everything they had, from their fists to bows to swords, the core four eliminated enemy soldiers; their plan was to carve a path to Rumlow, meant for a swift capture or a fight to the death for their leader.

Pressed back to back, Steve and Helena guarded each other as the unfortunate soldiers who crossed their blades earned a death sentence. The bodies piled up around them and in the chaos of battle, Helena missed something Steve shouted to her as she cleaved through the torso of an ambling giant before they could levy their battle-axe down upon her. She recalled her brief training stint with the Valkyries and some of the techniques she gleaned through observation, but nothing bridged the gap better than the thousands upon thousands of combat years ingrained in her mind subconsciously. Half the time, she had no understanding of what she could do and what she did do, other than what she saw as it happened. Her unpredictability frightened enemies into avoiding her and, as a result, Steve too.

Rumlow, sensing the tide shifting in favor of Manhattan, signaled for one of his men to summon the last of their reinforcements. The soldier produced a war horn from their belt and blew into it, a guttural and resonating boom washing over the battlefield. The third wave would descend upon the chaos in a last-ditch attempt to swing the battle Hydra’s way. A unified chant echoed up the hill when the Vormir mages appeared behind Rumlow with Via and Bethany leading them. At the same time, on the opposite side, Grimsbane approached with the remaining warriors and mercenaries assembled between Hydra, Sokovia, and Wakanda.

Riding in on an armored horse, Bethany and Via started out at the field when Via lowered her hood and raised her arms. Rumlow expected that Vormir’s magic might frighten the spartan Manhattan soldiers away or send them piling up against the gates. He failed to anticipate magic wielders of the opposing side through Wanda and Helena, the most unexpected contender on the field. While the warriors already joined the fray of their fellow Hydrian allies, the Vormir mages remained firmly planted in their paces.

Via dismounted from the horse with assistance from Bethany, and her stepping onto the field garnered the attention of those of Vormir. They stood at the ready for her command. She snapped her fingers, and the mages collectively assembled their power to form legions of undead soldiers clawing their way out of the ground. The skeletal bodies carried weapons fashioned from their own bones, and Via smirked.

“For Vormir! Mages, attack!” Via barked and, with a horseback Bethany leading the charge, the skeletal soldiers sprinted ahead, but plowed into the side of the Hydrian forces. The soldiers would harp on and attack Hydrian soldiers until they succumbed to wounds or were overwhelmed while ignoring those affiliated with Manhattan. Rumlow whirled to face the betrayal head-on, but, before he could even step closer, Via leveled her hand and released a concentrated strike of dark lightning energy. The force slammed into Rumlow’s chest and sent him flying into the dirt, marking the actions of Via and her followers as intentional and pre-meditated. It became clear a revolt erupted among the Hydrian army, led by Vianna of Vormir and Bethany, her loyal bodyguard.

“They are attacking their own side!” One of the soldiers bellowed and the sight of Via and her section of magic users dismantling the forces of Hydra spread across like wildfire. Although stunned by the change, Manhattan pushed forward and utilized the distraction to their advantage. Grimsbane, hidden behind the cloak, turned on his daughter and callously blasted her backward with a burst of shadows striking her in the gut. Bethany, who rode past and slain several soldiers, narrowed her eyes and raced for Via’s side, trampling those in her way under her horse’s hooves. Her duty was to Via and no one else—undisputed by their revolt. She stopped and threw herself off the horse in a practiced roll, standing between Via and Grimsbane with her shield at the ready.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grimsbane demanded from across the field as he stared down his defiant daughter, driven to rage.

“Your tyranny is no more, Father,” Via responded coldly when examining the hooded monster that she lived under for far too long. She spent years in the dark and unenlightened as to her purpose, other than to serve her father blindly. Those days were long gone. Vormir needed a savior and although she considered herself no hero, she did see herself as the rightful heir to the throne once she vacated the ill-fit ruler from it, “I shall liberate Vormir from you and the dark ages you subjected us to.” Her tone of smug, calculated triumph over those who believed her to be their ally needled its way underneath the skin of all the leadership that heard it, further angering Grimsbane. He should have listened to the rumors of his advisors that Via and Bethany had turned against him, that the two organized a revolt of his people against him, that they planned to co-rule as queens and lovers after deposing him in a usurpation.

“If I must kill you for your insubordination Vianna, so be it,” Grimsbane growled when he and his daughter levitated above the soldiers fighting below them. They summoned their magic and surged toward each other, clashing in a blinding blast of light. Many eyes were drawn to the fight of fire, ice, shadows, and lighting exchanged between the two mages. Helena felt her gut clench when she realized Via was slowly losing the battle without assistance. Her actions provided Manhattan more ammunition to fight back, which meant Helena decided that she deserved help. She dispatched all the soldiers sprinting at her and glanced over her shoulder, summoning a spike of light to impale the soldier attempting to sneak into her husband’s blind spot. Steve whirled to see the sword intended for his side, limply fall from the soldier’s hand, and felt Helena’s protective touch washing over him.

“Stay safe,” Helena whispered to him before she soared up into the air, leaving Steve down below. He nodded and glanced up ahead, where he spotted Rumlow; he better be ready for the world of hurt saved for him.

Helena, hovering above the warzone, beelined for Via and Grimsbane. She increased her pace when she noticed Grimsbane charging a final blast for Via, tumbling mid-air and ill-prepared to defend herself. She threw herself in the way of the attack and thrust her shield forward, letting the energy harmlessly bounce off the rounded surface. Grimsbane snarled when Helena peeked out from behind the shield and surged forward. Via watched in awe as Helena ditched the shield as she twisted her sword around Grimsbane’s chosen weapon and disarmed them both with a flex of her wrist. The weapons evaporated back into light and Grimsbane, reacting on pure instinct, threw a recklessly wild punch for Helena’s face. However, he hardly expected the princess to not only catch his fist in her crushing grip but retaliate with a strike of hers. That was what she did when curling her fist up and sucker punching him in his gut.

Via forced herself back into the fray and snuck behind her distracted father, sensing the opportunity to end his tyrannical reign of their people. They were of Vormir, not pawns meant for petty wars of foolish men with egos. Their purpose was to serve as the neutral balance between good and evil, a role Eprana took over when her father ascended to his position as shaman king. His death would usher in the restoration of the balance within the Seven Kingdoms and deliver prosperity. Grabbing the sides of his hood and yanking it down, Via slapped her hands against his temples. She discharged the dark, warped lightning through her father’s body while Helena averted her eyes, knowing the rumors. Grimsbane writhed and screamed in agony when he realized the damage would be fatal.

Grimsbane’s body dissolved between the two women into dust, sending him to what laid beyond the realm of the living. When looking at Helena, Via could not help the slight smile that reached her face. Helena stepped in where others might not and protected someone who, up until recently, was an enemy. But that was Helena, at her core.

“You are not so bad, sister. I heard many things about you. I am glad to see none of them are true.” Via mentioned to a confused Helena. _Sister? What did she mean by-?_ Helena’s train of thought derailed when she blindly caught a whizzing arrow mid-air and launched it like a javelin, striking the archer. She went to pry for a follow-up, but when she turned around, Via no longer stood there. She glanced around to find no sight of the Vormir princess but decided to figure out what she meant later. She planned on returning to Steve if she could see him. A glance down revealed a chaotic mess and no easy sight of Steve.

“I need to find Steve!” Helena breathlessly gasped and with a panicked flutter of her wings, she dove down closer to the fighting and searched for her husband among the crowded battlefield. She prayed that no harm befell him while she went away.

Down below, Steve found himself in the epicenter of the fight and surrounded by his friends. He dodged several close calls and did earn himself some minor injuries from blunt force and tumbling to the ground twice. Bruising was the worst of it thus far and he hoped it stayed that way. While hacking and slashing through enemy defenses, Steve spotted Rumlow up ahead and his blood chilled.

Rumlow glanced around at the losing battle he was fighting and, without hesitation, started sprinting back toward the direction of the boats. He was making a cowardly getaway—but not if Steve could help it.

Gripping onto his sword and tightly hiding behind his shield, Steve muscled his way through the battlefield and sprinted after Rumlow. His imposing figure barreled through the crowd of blades and magic flying recklessly, using his sword and shield as needed. The sight of the General moving full speed ahead caused those of Manhattan to dodge and those of Hydra to scatter terrified.

“Rumlow, stop running, you cowardly bastard!” Steve thundered, and Rumlow came to a halt at the edge of the hill’s crest, glancing over his shoulder at Steve approaching him with his stained blade in hand. That was his last mistake, the last time that General Rogers would ever cross him.

“Make me then,” Rumlow snapped and unsheathed his sword, pointing it toward Steve with a challenge. He refused to comply with orders from someone he deemed to be inferior. “You are nothing, lesser than the dirt under my boot. I am to be a king! I shall not have my destiny stopped by a pretender, ambling around and fooling idiots into believing his greatness.”

“Your lack of self-awareness was always your greatest weakness,” Steve mocked, which was enough to rile Rumlow up and the two men sprinted toward each other with weapons drawn. Their swords clanged off each other in a fast-paced exchange of parrying, sword swings, and ducking. Neither men held the intent of surrender, only the instinct to kill. Midway through the fight, their swords intersected in a clashing cross and both men pushed back against each other in a gridlock scenario.

Overhead, Helena finally spotted Steve challenging Rumlow, one on one, and she could not take her eyes off the sight. She wanted to stand by her husband because either they reigned supreme or they went down together. She held no intention of letting them be separated.

“Stay away from my husband!” Helena roared when she grabbed Rumlow by the neck and threw him at least ten feet from Steve. Rumlow slammed against the ground with a sickening crunch and there had to be at least one broken or cracked bone in his body. Helena protectively positioned herself between Steve, breathing heavy, and Rumlow on the ground.

“Your husband? You dirty, conniving whore-” Rumlow gagged when spitting up a chunk of blood gathered in his mouth from Helena’s vicious attack. So, she married his sworn enemy? Another layer of spiteful revenge against him, his country, and his honor. She probably already spread her legs for him too and he soiled her purity, meant for the touch of royalty instead of a filthy commoner who lucked his way into power. Helena’s jaw clenched, but Steve appeared downright murderous, threateningly leaning forward with his sword at the ready.

“Talk like that to her again, and I will not hesitate to carve out your tongue as an example,” Steve promised as to intimidate him, but Helena kept her husband back with a soft arm against his chest. He settled somewhat, although his blood boiled when hearing Rumlow call Helena such derogatory names.

“Incoming soldiers,” Helena warned as her head snapped to the side and noticed several soldiers racing toward her and Steve, coming to defend their prince with their lives if need be. The numbers were uneven, but she could level the playing field.

“I have Rumlow!” Steve exclaimed, and his eyes connected with Helena, who nodded. She would allow him to fight his battles as he did long before she entered the picture. She firmly believed that this was his destiny in the making and remembered that she needed to trust his determination to survive.

“This should not take long,” Helena promised, and she turned onto the enemies, summoning light to her fingers that danced into the shape of those holy arrows from the battle’s beginning. Her eyes flashed, and the arrows raced from her fingertips and zigzagged with unrelenting pursuit until finding a Hydrian target. While she fended off the interruption, Steve faced down with Rumlow. Ten years of conflict built up to this moment and both men knew, one more readily than the other, that the superior swordsman in Steven Grant Rogers would emerge triumphant.

“I give you one last chance to surrender.” Steve offered, but Rumlow cutting him off mid-sentence with a messy slash of his sword provided the answer to such a proposal. So, a fight to the death it was. Steve and Rumlow raced for each other with renewed ferocity, although Rumlow appeared more worn down than his opponent despite facing fewer opponents. This represented the battle’s climax as the Manhattan forces and their newfound allies steadily decimated the Hydrian offensive. The tide had turned, meaning it was only a matter of time.

Helena, having dispatched all those who dared to come to Rumlow’s defense, turned around to witness the sight of Steve knocking Rumlow off balance and impaling his sword through Rumlow’s abdomen. Rumlow’s sword clattered out of his hand and his knees collapsed, making Steve drop lower while still holding onto the fatal blade. Steve released the blade and stepped a pace backward, knowing Rumlow’s only option was to bleed out.

“This war, all the pain you caused, is over, Rumlow. I hope that wherever you end up, that you rot in misery.” Steve snapped coldly when staring down at the pathetic gaping of Rumlow, feebly pawing at his sword with bloody hands. He felt the returned presence of his wife and one glance to his side revealed her hateful expression, glowing in the darkness of the eclipse. He stepped back, as she deserved her final words to Rumlow after all he put her through. Helena stepped forward to speak, but her throat closed nervously. A small inkling of guilt seeped into her bosom and she contemplated whether to practice forgiveness. That changed when she overheard the incoherent mumbling he slurred out for what it was: he was praying to the Pantheon. Her glow intensified and thunder rumbled in the distance, a warning. How dare he grovel to the gods he once disparaged so arrogantly and beg for mercy. His decision sealed his fate as Helena spoke for the gods of the Pantheon now. They guided through her.

“You believe in the Gods now? Let us see if any of them claim you,” Forming her sword into her white-knuckled fists, Helena narrowed her eyes into slits, pulled her dominant arm with the sword across her body, and swiftly sliced the blade through Rumlow’s neck. With gruesome precision, she severed his head clean from his shoulders, and a scream ripped through the battlefield. She grabbed the head through a thick chunk of his hair and held up Rumlow’s decapitated head in the air above her. The face of the Hydrian prince forever rested in a position of fear intended for the realization that the woman he tormented in his hubris would be his end. When the attention settled on her, she discarded Rumlow’s severed head at her feet without regret.

“The war has ended. Surrender and you shall live.” Helena commanded and in the stillness of the battlefield, those on the side of Hydra and its allies began to lower their weapons. None of the soldiers were brave enough to challenge the bloodied and glowing princess who slaughtered a third of their forces singlehandedly and killed their leader without a shred of mercy. When those of Hydra’s loyal forces disarmed themselves, the Vormir rebels and Manhattan’s bolstered armies erupted into cheers for the victory. They would honor those who gave their lives in the ultimate sacrifice, but after ten prolonged years, the war was finally going to end.


	20. As the Dust Settles

_Eprana, Year 10 of the Manhattan-Hydra War (Manhattan victory imminent)_

Around two months passed since the Battle of Manhattan and as expected, Hydra crumbled after the crushing defeat bestowed to them. Various events following the decisive Manhattan victory, thanks to Princess Helena’s involvement that would forever change the course of the Seven Kingdoms—arguably, for the better.

The first issue came with settling the power vacuum in Vormir. With the shaman king dead, the throne of Vormir faced vacancy, but the people elected that Vianna ascends to the throne without much dissent. She trained for the position and she, unlike her father, represented the wishes of the people. As no surprise to those who spent time around the palace and witnessed the close bond between the princess and her bodyguard in Bethany, the two married and were coronated as co-queens.

Via promised a return to normalcy by restoring Vormir’s status as a neutral kingdom to free Eprana from the vow of neutrality. Such a move greatly pleased the kingdom and forged an alliance with Eprana as the two mystic kingdoms. Since the relationship was facilitated through Helena, she and Via kept contact. Helena received the answer to her question regarding their alleged bond of sisterhood. As Helena would learn through her correspondence with Via, her mother’s disappearance came from selfish reasons and she fled the royal life she grew jaded of to Vormir. She found herself inextricably entangled with Grimsbane and mothered Via, while still married to Helena’s father. Although shocked, Helena could not put the story out of the realm of possibility as her mother’s cold demeanor would make such an outcome believable.

_Standing at the edge of the Anteia’s lake, Helena enjoyed the sensation of the sand under her bare feet and the soft allure of flowers in the wind. She closed her eyes when soaking in the breeze and she cracked one eye open when hearing the crunch of feet behind her._

“Ah, you made it. I wanted to pass on my congratulations to you, Your Majesty.” Helena remarked to her newfound companion, who celebrated her coronation that day. If memory served correctly, she was entering the first day as Queen of Vormir.

_“You are always the sentimental one,” Via scoffed, somewhat playfully, but Helena heard the appreciation for her care. She was getting accustomed to having someone who cared about her, beyond a superficial level or because she was useful for their agenda. She hummed, “But I do appreciate the well wishes.”_

_“I wish I could have been there, but Vormir rituals are private and I respect that. How did the coronation go over? How are the people receiving Bethany as their co-queen or would she be Queen Consort to your Queen Regent?” Helena inquired as Via stood next to her on the bank of the lake, staring out into the gorgeous, sunrise-colored horizon._

_“Bethany is beloved by the people and no one has raised a fuss about her and I’s union. If there was, neither of us would stand for it.” Via informed and she smiled when thinking about Bethany, the same Bethany sleeping beside her in the real world and the one she intended to spend her life with._

_“Good. Good,” Helena smiled at Via, the sister she always wanted and the one who came to her when she needed, before embracing her in a tight hug. Via awkwardly stiffened, still adjusting to physical affection, and pat Helena’s shoulder. Although she had yet to admit it, she grew to care for her older half-sister. That would be her secret to keep, if for a little while. She had Helena to thank for turning her soft._

Then, the Wakandan Civil War met a timely end without backing from Hydra as the insurgent movement faced numerous drops in their members and Hydra’s additional soldiers were no longer available. Killmonger did not stop fighting until he died in battle, earning the death of a warrior rather than a prisoner. T’Challa, the uncontested king, pardoned those who sided with his cousin and worked on rebuilding his kingdom in the aftermath. Manhattan, as an ally, contributed a great deal of resources and support during the ordeal. The pre-existing alliance strengthened, and the two nations leaned on each other as they recovered from the decade’s protracted war and a shorter civil conflict respectively.

Without Ultron, Sokovia descended into rioting and protests the military powers with a victory awarded to the people. The people decided that it was time for a more democratic system with an elected leader and more power in the hands of the people. Several names floated but none gained more traction than that of Wanda, who was surprised but honored by such an offer. Of all those named, Wanda deserved the right to return home and lead her people into a golden age. 

The day after the Battle of Manhattan, Natasha was tasked with sailing to Hydra and ordering Pierce to surrender, agree to the terms set by the four victorious nations, and sign an accord that prohibited any conflict from arising like this war did. Arriving in the capital and marching up to the Triskelion was the easy part, what follow next describes could only be described as a tragedy of Greek proportions.

_Entering the throne room, Natasha and her forces planned to force Pierce into signing the accords and negotiating peace, but were met with the gruesome sight of the traitor king slumped at the foot of his throne, crown settled atop his head, and a trail of blood leaking across the marble floors. A bloodied dagger rested an inch out of his fingertips. Natasha wrinkled her nose and sighed._

_“Send a messenger back to Manhattan. There is no purpose in us staying here and we shall return home.” She declared while the soldiers accompanying her saluted, watching her spin on her heel and walk out. She hoped to never see this throne room ever again._

All led up to this moment, which saw Helena standing on the bow of _The First Avenger_ , another Manhattan ship, and giddily watching as the island came into view. Two years since she last visited it made her heart yearn for a return to the place she called home. She picked out her most favorite dress for arrival day, which was a [blush pink tulle gown](https://64.media.tumblr.com/67c7dff19052258f2c2c8349020e4035/932e4d8eb3806185-92/s1280x1920/e9b64816ca97954c23938132354c024628aac0d7.jpg) embellished with flower embroidery and a plunging neckline. Her crown rested in her loose waves and she wore minimal cosmetics since she packed so few. She inhaled in the sea breeze with a smile, feeling fond memories rush at her. A pair of strong arms encircled around her waist and protective hands rested on her swollen stomach accentuated by the waistline of her dress. Steve liked guarding her stomach; it made him feel like he was doing something productive. He considered his duty of father-to-be and husband as the most important roles of his lifetimes, ones he fulfilled with pride.

“The crew predicts we shall reach landfall in under the hour. So, are you ready to see your home and father again?” Steve questioned huskily, still adjusting to being awake. He requested that he and the wife not be disturbed until before an hour out from docking in Eprana’s ports. The two happily slept in for most of the morning, but Helena woke up before Steve did. She made sure to dress accordingly in a gown that demonstrated her royal grace while accentuating the fact that she already satisfied the wishes of her people with conceiving an heir.

“Of course, I am! It is time that I return.” Helena declared and she stood with Steve on the bow until _The First Avenger_ anchored at Eprana’s docks. The plank barely got lowered before Helena spotted her father waiting at the end of the ports. She, compelled to see him, danced out of her husband’s comforting embrace. She descended the plank and onto the pier, with Steve not far behind and concerned about her health and mobility.

“Papa!” Helena exclaimed and she, hiking up her skirt, sprinted to him and hugged him like she never wanted to let go. Her papa’s teary expression was hidden in her hair as the father and daughter reunited in the flesh for the first time in over two years apart. Those gathered on the beach to witness the homecoming were moved by the sight. “You must meet Steve. Papa, this is General Rogers, my husband.”

“Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Steve bowed respectfully and he reached out to hold his hand “I know the timing of such request might seem presumptuous, given that Helena and I are already married, but I would like to request your blessing of this marriage and our future.” Steve asked, knowing Helena worried over the lack of blessing during their courtship. This was for her and her culture’s customs more than for him; he would do anything to bring her happiness. Alexander looked Steve over before wrapping him in a surprise hug, demonstrating where Helena learned that from.

“You are already family, my son.” Alexander whispered to him and Steve felt some relief. He glanced at Helena, whose eyes sparkled in joy. This was the moment she dreamed of since marrying Steve and now that it came true, she felt blessed beyond imagination.

“And we have more news to share, but I believe you wished to conduct a royal edict first, papa?” Helena sweetly reminded and Alexander nearly cried from how good it felt to have his daughter back home.

“Yes, we can discuss much more later. We must announce to the people of your arrival,” King Alexander chuckled as he guided Steve and Helena out to the eagerly waiting crowd. Epranians, young and old, marveled at the sight of the newcomers. The King cleared his throat and the crowd waited for his edict with bated breath. “Good people of Eprana! May I introduce you to your future Queen Helena Emmeline Nepheros and Prince Consort Steven Grant Rogers?” King Alexander announced to the Epranan people and the Epranians whistled and cheered when taking in their long-lost princess and the General of Manhattan, the victors of the war and the lovers bound together by the blessings of Fate.

**Author's Note:**

> STORY ALSO AVAILABLE ON TUMBLR (@queen-kass-the-writer)


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